Through the Dark
by midnightweeds
Summary: Tom leaned in and brushed his lips against the curve of her cheek, "Give in." Hermione closed her eyes, "To what, Riddle? To you?" He chuckled, "To yourself, little witch. To power." / AT Tomione
1. prologue

**Disclaimer:** I am not JK Rowling; this world and it's characters belong to her and those affiliated with her brand.

**Warning: **This is not a love story.

* * *

**THRU ****the ****DARK**

DKM

"Being good felt like a heavy coat, so I took it off."

-Naomi Shihab Nye

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

"Will you admit it?"

"Admit what, Granger? That I love you?"

She frowned, setting her quill down in her ink pot. "Why would I want that?"

He blinked. "You don't want me to love you?"

Sighing, Hermione drew her fingers through her hair, piling her curls into a weak bun. "I've seen what becomes of anything you love, Riddle."

Tom looked at her curiously, as though he were finally taking notice of the witch. She realized, amusement filling her to the brim, that he _was_ only just noticing.

It was an easy assumption to make, after all. The other powerful witches in he knew wanted to be loved –logically, she would want the same thing. And she had, in the beginning; hungrily and desperately she wanted to be the only one he loved. But…that was before. Things were different now.

She knew herself. Finally.

Smiling, Hermione reached across the table, offering her hand to him. Her spine tingled as he drew his fingers over her palm. "You chose me, Tom. Because we are alike. Because we have the same desires –because, like you, I don't care to be _loved_\- I want to be powerful."

His brows furrowed as he traced her fingers. "What would you like me to admit?"

"That you need me."

Chuckling, he asked, "And what do I get, Granger?"

She hummed, shifting in her chair, leaning slightly over the table. "You already have my affections and devotion, Tom. What more could you want?"

As he licked his lips Hermione realized that his chest was rising and falling faster than usual. It was oddly attractive: the last of his mortality, free for and vulnerable to her.

"For you to become a horcrux."

Her heart stopped cold, eyes snapping to his. It was such an _odd_ request, made so casually and calmly. She opened her mouth to say no, but instead said, "Only if I can have the most important part of you."

He smirked, and she realized that this was what he'd always wanted. She was safe. Good. Pure. Even with all of her darkness, she was still better than he was. He needed that. He needed _her._

"Hermione-"

Her name sounded as though it fell from some dark place, warm and soft as it melted from his lips. Her heart began to beat again, hard and fast against the fragile bones of her chest. It fucking _hurt_. It'd never been like this before.

"That's all I have left."

* * *

**A/N:** This story is quick-paced, modern, and dark. My Tom is incredibly likeable, and equally dangerous. This Hermione is a bit annoying (no surprise there), and her faults are obvious (but she grows a lot throughout the story).  
If you read the Xmas challenge submitted to the _Tomione Kink Meme_, you'll notice similarities in characters and in writing style; if you are familiar with any of my other stories, this one is very different. What you see is really what you get with this story. I will gladly answer any questions, but as a general rule I would say not to think _too _much about anything you already know.  
There are roughly 5 parts to this, each one a little shorter than the last. It is abrupt and heartbreaking. I'll provide warnings at the top of the page, should they be required.

This is for the Tomione Big Bang, Part 1. Hopefully everyone can enjoy!

**Prompt: **(I lost the whole one, so in summary) Tom and goody-two-shoes Hermione have had nothing to do with each other throughout their Hogwarts career. Prof. Merrythought assigns a Magical Aptitude test on the first day of 7th year DADA, claiming that it's good to know if you have an affinity for light or dark curses and counters. Tom spells his grey; Hermione's turns 'blacker than burnt carbon and the space between the stars.' Tom is intrigued.  
(I have admittedly prob gone completely off course and I'm sorry if I butchered your prompt.)


	2. part one

**Disclaimer:** I am not JK Rowling. This incredible world and it's characters belong to her and those affiliated with the brand.

* * *

**PART ONE**

**.**

**ONE**

Hermione hadn't meant to, not really.

Her parents had decided that Italy was a beautiful place to spend August, and while she spent half of her time touring with them, her main concern was seeing Wizarding Italy, intent on learning as much as she possibly could, not only for her thesis on Magical Creature (Human and Non-Human) relations, but also so that she would be a greater help Harry when the time came. It wasn't that she didn't have faith in her friend, because she truly had all the faith in the world that he'd someday manage to kill the _greatest _Dark Wizard of all time, but everyone needed some sort of help. And what was the use of being the brightest witch of her age if she wasn't able to explore and experiment?

She reached for her wand and palmed it, ignoring the magic that pulsed through her hand. It'd been three days since she'd left Italy, and she found herself unable to use her typically known and faithful wand, and she felt no more inclined to do so today. Not after...

Studying the Dark Arts, objectively, of course, had not gone as planned. But, how was she to know that there would be a time she would be inclined to use _them_? Not that what she'd done was that bad. Really, it wasn't. It was just a shock. A huge and incredible _shock. _

Anyway, Dumbledore had _encouraged _her, he really had. He was a practical and logical man that she was ever grateful for, and Hermione was certain that if he had been present, he would have done same thing. She didn't think he would object to her having spent her summer studying them. He'd agree that knowing as much as possible about the enemy was necessary, if you planned on beating them. The rest of the Order may not understand, not exactly, but Dumbledore would, and Harry would come to, and that's what mattered.

_Oh, who am I __**kidding**_, Hermione asked herself, easily recalling her trudge through the ruins of Herculaneum.

"Hermione, dear!" Her mother's voice sounded from the bottom of the steps. "Are you nearly ready? It's time to head to King's Cross!"

She sat up on her bed, quickly standing, and instantly recalled the way it felt to stand on the ledge before the dark room. She hadn't been _alone_, and it was such an instant feeling she thought she'd fall from the warehouse and into the sea below. She hadn't been alone, and there were suddenly what felt to be hundreds of pairs of eyes on her -admittedly, there were only about ten, but it was still too many. There wasn't supposed to be anyone even on that property. She...she...

The witch sat back down on the edge of her bed, hands pressing into her knees and fingers squeezing the soft flesh. She realized that she dropped her wand, and her eyes found where it lay on the bedroom floor, seemingly mocking her. For days, she'd been cataloguing what it meant to be the owner of a vine wood wand, and everyday she convinced herself a little more that she was in no shape, way, or form inclined to the Dark Arts. She was Muggleborn, for goodness sake, and a firm protester against Gellert Grindelwald's ridiculous campaign.

She'd just been desperate. It'd been life or death. She'd done what she had to do. And no one had been _injured_, at least, not anymore than they already were. They'd been dead to begin with, anyway -and, on that note, why someone thought it okay to have an army of Inferi in a Muggle ruin was beyond her. It was disrespectful, not to mention _illegal_.

"Hermione!"

"I'm coming, Mum!" She breathed, letting go of her knees once the feeling grew too similar to the feel of the Inferi holding onto her.

As she reached for her wand, her eyes fell onto the back of her hand, studying the fleshy wound she'd acquired. It'd finally stopped bleeding, but she swore she could still feel nails pressing through her skin as one of them had attempted to drag her deeper into the warehouse. They were so strong, and nothing had _worked_. She'd been forced to use anything that came to mind as they attempted to overpower her, and as she once again gripped her wand, she remembered what it was like the moment Fiendfyre came to mind. It was as though she'd woken up; she casted it before she could think about all of the damage it would do.

And then, she'd been so afraid. There was so much magic, so much stronger and more powerful than she'd been accustomed to, sprouting from her wand so potently that she feared the fire would consume _her_ if she didn't run. So, she did. Oh, how they _screamed_, shouting specifically for her; it was as though whatever spell they were under lifted, leaving them alive, and they were heavily aware of what was happening. She could still hear them, calling for her to help them…damning her.

"Hermione!"

She started, getting up from her bed and magicking a bandage for her wound before quickly leaving her room.

"Didn't you visit the Herculaneum ruins while we were in Italy, Jeannie?" John Granger looked up at his daughter curiously as she came down the steps.

She made herself busy by shooing Crookshanks into his carrier, blinking a few times. "Huh?"

"The Herculaneum ruins, dear," her mother, Jane, began to usher her out of the house. "Weren't you there?"

Her father followed them with her trunk, loudly.

"Oh, no. Turns out you can't actually access the grounds. There are wards around them." It was the truth. There _had _been wards, and she'd unwisely made child's play of them; however, she'd been able to put up a heavier set up before leaving, fearful that Muggle children would stumble across what she had. "I'd read that the Muggles thought the grounds possessed, so perhaps some wizards were attempting to keep whatever is in there, in there."

They all got into the car, her mother instantly lighting a cigarette. Her father fussed, rolling down the windows before saying, "That's too bad, really. Apparently, someone tried to burn them _down_. The authorities can't trace the fire to any given point, and they had to call in specialists to put it out. Can you believe it? Wild, isn't it? You've got to be a sicko to do something like that."

Hermione pulled the half-kneazle from the carrier, snuggling him to her chest. "Yeah," she agreed, "a sicko."

_Really_, she hadn't meant to.

**.**

**TWO**

Hermione moved deeper into the Common Room, her anger seeming to grow with every group of people she was forced to push through. _I'm going to kill him_, she thought to herself, _I'm going to __**fucking**__ kill him. _

Someone grabbed her shoulders, turning her around. "Hermione!"

"Get off me, Nott," she hissed, wiggling out of his hold.

He grinned at her, undeterred by her obvious discomfort and displeasure. "I'm glad you could make it! I was beginning to think Riddle didn't invite you!"

"He didn't!"

She pushed past him, finally making it out on the other side of the room, and as though he'd been waiting for her, Tom stood smirking, his dark eyes cloudy but present as they took her in. "You're _foul_, Riddle! Tomorrow is the first day of classes, and you have your housemates carrying on as though they have no responsibilities. What is the matter with you? You're Head _Boy_ for Merlin's sake!"

"I can't hear you, Granger!" He told her, head bobbing as the Polar Prymates' music filled the room.

She didn't believe him, not even for a second.

"Maybe you should just enjoy the party! Your housemates are!" He pointed behind her, and she turned to see Lee Jordan making out with a Slytherin as they danced.

With her cheeks inflamed, she turned back to see amusement dancing across his features. Somehow, she resisted the urge to shove him. "I should report you," she threatened.

He blinked, managing to pull himself together –even if it was only barely.

"Oh, you heard that, did you?"

He stepped closer to her, and Hermione was suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that she'd never even been in Slytherin House before, let alone so near to Tom Riddle. She was also well aware of the fact that they'd barely said a thing to each other, _ever_, before today. Her skin seemed to tingle with life, surpassing discomfort and displeasure by a long shot. But, she refused to take a step back, because it was exactly what he wanted, and she couldn't help but feel that their forced acquaintanceship for the rest of the year relied heavily on this conversation –never mind that it was entirely her fault. She'd deal with herself later.

And, as though her eyes hadn't been pried open enough, she hyperaware of the fact that she was surrounded by Slytherin. By people who lived and breathed Dark Magic. They could probably sense her shortcomings on her as plainly as they could see that her shirt was red. Her damaged hand, as though aware of her situation, started to weep through her bandages.

She tried to establish eye contact with Tom, to see if he'd noticed, but got distracted.

His eyes were almost lazy as he stared down at her, as though her presence was absolutely ordinary. It was almost a relief. "Hermione," he murmured.

She only heard him because she'd been looking at his mouth. "_Don't _call me that, Riddle."

As though he hadn't heard her, he asked, "You wouldn't want to spend your 7th year quarrelling with Malfoy, would you? Because it's my understanding that he's next in line, should I be removed."

"Yeah _right_, Riddle. I know for a _fact_ that Marcus Belby-"

"Accepted an internship with his uncle's potion's company, and is unable to preform the duties of a Head."

"-would _gladly_ step in, should I ask him to do so," she huffed, only partially sure of her statement.

Tom's eyes sparked with dark joy, a smirk smoothing over his face. "So, that rumor is true then?"

She felt her cheeks begin to burn. "I'll give you until _midnight, _Riddle. After that, I'm waking Professor Snape to deal with you."

Glancing at Malfoy, who stood posted against the wall, his eyes disinterested as they roamed the crowd, Hermione realized that spending a year with his haughty apathy would put her in a deeper version of hell than Riddle ever could. Her eyes caught the pin fastened to his button-ups collar, and she resisted gagging. Proudly, as though _racism _was something so be proud of, against the lush green of his sweater, sat the symbol of a Grindelwald supporter. As she scowled, he smirked at her.

"And keep better company. You're the Head Boy for fuck's sake."

She turned to leave, choosing to ignore the fact that she had no intention of ever telling Snape anything. It wasn't exactly the way she wanted to start the year off.

An arsonist _and _a snitch.

_Merlin_, she laughed to herself, rubbing her forehead tiredly as she moved through the crowd.

"Granger! You can't leave without a drink."

It was Nott again.

"I can," she told him, blinking bitterly in his direction. He was smiling largely at her, almost sickeningly. She wondered if Tom put him up to bothering her, because she could barely remember speaking with Nott socially before tonight. "And I will, Nott. I'm the Head Girl."

"Off duty Head Girl right now. Term doesn't start until tomorrow." He pushed a cup of Butterbeer into her hand.

She would have bet her life that someone had heavy-handedly poured in Firewhiskey. "That's _hardly _an excuse."

"Right," he smirked, glancing over her shoulder. "Here comes Belby," he winked before disappearing into the crowd.

Hermione chugged the Butterbeer just as the Ravenclaw touched her shoulder, turning around with a smile on her face. "Marcus!" She exclaiming, allowing him to hug her.

She felt his magic, cool and calm –_different_\- as it swept over her, but she didn't get the chance to consider what it meant. The alcohol clouded her mind like summer rain, warm and comforting against her already frazzled state.

"'Sup, 'Mione? How was your summer?"

The wound on her hand itched terribly in response to the question. "It was enlightening," she told him, watching him pass a hand through his dark hair. "Yours?"

"Honestly? I missed you."

She laughed, blinking a few times in attempt to clear her blurring vision.

"What happened to your hand?" He asked, grasping and pulling it into view.

The action, thankfully, helped sober her. Pulling her hand from his, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed. It was crazy –it was _stupid_, really, because why would anyone care about a bandage? Why would they notice, more than in passing?

But she was in Slytherin. If there was anything she'd learned about them, it was that they always noticed. Her eyes caught Malfoy's as he looked up from her hand; his blank stare seemed to make the situation all the worst.

Hermione realized that she'd made a horrible mistake coming down here –worst than she originally imagined, even-, and that she needed to get out as quickly as possible.

Looking back at Belby, she smiled prettily, and glanced casually at her hand. "Just a burn. I was barbequing." She gagged, unable not to. "I should get going."

"You only just got here!" Belby smiled, but there was something wrong. He reached for her hand again. "Dance with me."

She felt her chest tightening. His grip, his entire presence, made her feel as though she was again trapped by Inferi. There _really_ wasn't an option anymore. She had to get out. She had to…

Swallowing, she carefully extracted her hand from his, using the uninjured one to brush against his cheek. "Maybe next time, Marcus."

Hermione turned directly into Tom. He looked down at her humoredly, before glancing speculatively between she and Belby. "Leaving so soon, Granger?"

"Yes, I really must be going."

He hummed thoughtfully, offering her his arm, "Allow me to escort you."

"That really isn't necessary, Riddle. I saw myself down here, and I can see myself out," she tried to go around him, but he caught her arm, looking down at her with large, dark eyes that seemed to eat away at everything in her.

She wasn't sure where any of her emotions were coming from, but was relatively thankful for the distraction they brought. Her mind seemed to calm. "Fine," she murmured. She wasn't really sure why.

He smirked, leading her from the Commons.

"I hear there is going to be an Aptitude Test in Defense tomorrow," he told her, voice low and uncomfortable.

Hermione folded her arms over her chest, careful to keep her bandaged hand hidden away. "An Aptitude Test?" She questioned quietly. "Isn't that illegal?"

"They aren't testing to see how much magic you're capable of. They're testing to see the type of magic."

She forced herself to keep walking. Tom had absolutely no reason to tell her. They were not friends. They were barely even colleagues, considering their reign as Head Boy and Girl had yet to _really _start. The only explanation she had for him telling her –and it wasn't even a logical one, for that matter- was that he knew. He _knew_. _But how could he?_

"Nervous?" She asked, hoping she didn't sound it herself. As she looked over at him, she realized that he was watching her from the corner of his eye. Every glance was small and calculated as they neared the Dungeon staircase. She honestly couldn't believe her luck, or lack of.

Her decision to come down and confront him about his irresponsibility only seemed to draw attention to her own. She should have known better.

"Are you?" It was the most curious she'd ever heard him.

Continuing the line of questioning, she asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

He stopped as they got to the steps, turning to her with a slight frown on his face. "I'd much prefer Hannah Abbott have gotten this position-"

"She's ranked twenty-fifth!" She couldn't help her outrage.

"Yes, but she is capable of keeping her nose out of other people's business," he told her soundly, unamused as she huffed angrily. "Nevertheless, I'm sure that you, like myself, would like to make the most of this year and position. Therefore, we need to communicate and be honest with each other, as it pertains to our status and this school.

"I'm sure you've realized that many Head pairs have something to do with each other post Hogwarts, and while I have no intention of _ever_ seeing you again, Granger, I believe that this is an important alliance and experience for the both of us."

Hermione tried to believe him. She would have recommended the same things if she was in her right mind. The problem was that she _wasn't_. She couldn't help but believe that he knew what she'd done.

"What do you want from me?"

For what it was worth, he looked confused. "A drama free year, Granger. What is wrong with you? Are you drunk?"

"Yes," she breathed. It was easier than the truth.

He smirked, taking a step away from her as he tucked his hands into his pockets. She felt her cheeks heat up as he studied her, but relaxed enough to pick at the bandage on her hand. Despite the fact that she was still disturbingly and irrationally sure that he somehow knew she'd been the one that vandalized the ruins, Hermione felt fine. If him knowing meant that he would finally be civil with her, than so be it. It was more than anyone else would be if they knew.

"You're still awfully tense."

A couple came stumbling out of Slytherin, drawing their attention over her shoulder. Realizing that she was standing and chatting with Tom Riddle, Hermione straightened herself up and refolded her arms over her chest. "I will agree to being cordial with you, Riddle. I also think that it is important for us to be transparent with each other."

Noticing the way his eyes instantly fell to the bandaged hand, she swore under her breath and added, "As it pertains to being a Head and Hogwarts." It was really incredible how many people could be interested in something so insignificant.

Tom nodded slowly, eyes dancing as they observed her. She was almost in awe of the way he looked simultaneously interested and bothered, and wondered if it was something they practiced in Slytherin, or if it was a natural characteristic. He motioned for her to start walking again, and she did.

But, they didn't speak the rest of the way.

**.**

**THREE**

Hermione wasn't incredibly sure how to prepare for failure. At least, not her own –because she had been preparing to collectively lose against Grindelwald (begrudgingly, of course) for years. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling, and she'd chosen to write her mother for help. It was pointless, considering Defense was her first class of the day, but if she tried hard enough –and it was easy, because she was desperate-, she was able to convince herself was she was being productive and proactive.

As she sat perfectly still, unable to suppress the fear pulsing though her, the target on her back seemed to light itself aflame, attracting the attention of all of her classmates. It was as though the universe was suddenly out to get her, and there was nothing she could think to do about it. There was no way out of the hole she'd dug herself into.

She just couldn't believe it was happening on the first day.

The wound on the back of her hand, still weeping through the dressings she was constantly changing, smarted painfully. She rubbed the skin around it in attempt to soothe herself.

"You okay?" Neville asked, curiously eyeing the black bandages.

"Just a burn," she told him, trying to focus on Professor Merrythought.

"It's useful," she was saying, her eyes seeming the smother each student before she continued, "to know if you have an affinity for Dark or Light curses and counters."

Hermione busied herself by tying her hair into a bun, ignoring the spell demonstration. A quick glance over her shoulder told her that Tom wasn't paying any attention to her at all. It was, strangely, unnervingly, and distractingly reassuring. She'd talked herself down from the belief that he knew, as there wasn't really any way for him to know, and all the signs of the morning pointed toward her decision.

"The color is nothing to worry about, of course," Merrythought pointedly patted a Slytherin's workstation. "Having an easier time with either doesn't speak to the character of your heart, but rather the structure of your mind."

It wasn't an inspiring comment at all.

"Mind over matter," Ron whispered behind her. Harry laughed, and she could practically see the looks they were giving Slytherin.

Unable to stop herself, she turned to stare at the both of them. "Grow _up_," she hissed, "the _both_ of you. I'll take _points_."

At their confused looks, she turned back around, shocked at even herself. But…what would they say when her spell turned black? Because it wasn't a matter of _if_. She knew that well enough.

As Merrythought gave them the go ahead, Hermione blinked a few times. "Neville. Would you like to give it a go?"

"Uh," he grabbed his wand.

She looked over the sheet the professor had given her, "Start with your wand firm in your fist, knuckles facing upward. Turn your wrist clockwise while saying the incantation, and flick in a sharp, downward motion to your- no, no, Neville, it's almost one, fluid motion. Yes. Perfect. Now, once you flick down, continue to rotate your wrist in a small, circular fashion, repeating the incantation. You essentially want to make a sort of funnel for your magic to pass through. Ah-almost," she smiled at his excited laugh. "A little faster and-"

"Oh, splendid, Mr. Riddle!"

Hermione looked over her shoulder, toward the windows.

Tom stood leaning casually against his workstation, laughing with Malfoy and Zabini as grey smoke funneled from the tip of his wand. As excitement washed over the class, she rolled her eyes, groaning.

Ron scoffed as Harry remarked, "Who does he think he's fooling?"

"A nice grey. Absolutely lovely, and to be expected from a great, Slytherin mind-"

"Why even bother," she murmured. "Neville." She called, regaining his attention. "Nothing to worry about now. If Riddle's grey, we're all in the running to be saints."

Neville laughed, looking over the classroom to see if anyone else had been successful before practicing the gestures once more. After his third try, he was the fourth person in the class to successfully execute the spell, and Merrythought congratulated him excitedly as the creamy smoke seemed to roll around their workstation.

Merrythought then looked to Hermione, her round eyes expectant. Her mouth went dry, and she drew her cheeks into her teeth briefly, trying to ignore the way everyone seemed to focus on her. She offered the professor a tight smile, eyes catching Tom's over the shorter woman's shoulder.

It was a long shot. She _knew _that she was only imagining it. But, _Merlin_, if it didn't feel like he knew exactly what she'd done. The witch tried to convince herself that he had no idea, and that even if he did, it wasn't as though what she'd done was so bad anyway. She'd been protecting herself. She'd done exactly what she had to do in order to survive. Never mind what happened as a result of her actions –and how she was to know that she was capable of such dark potency, anyway?

Hermione swallowed.

"Nervous?" Merrythought questioned.

She laughed, looking away from Tom. "A little." It physically hurt to admit it.

"Not a problem, dearie. Mr. Potter, why don't you give it a go, first?"

"Uh. Ok," he picked his wand up from where it lay casually on the table. Looking over the instructions one more time, it took him two tries for anything worthwhile to happen. As the smoke funneled from his wand, it caused a grey nearly the same shade as Tom's to cover his area. Almost unapologetically, he looked at Merrythought, cracking a smile at the last moment. "The hat always did want me in Slytherin, Professor."

The tension that had momentarily filled the room melted away as their classmates laughed, and Ron took the opportunity to try to spell as well. Like Harry, it took him two tries for it to work. Merrythought clapped happily as cream colored smoke curled from his wand, "Very good, Mr. Weasley! Very good, indeed. Now, Miss Granger?"

She was certain that if her spell turned out the same color as Harry's, everyone would have something so say about. Her only saving grace was that he and Ron wouldn't judge her too hard. They knew her, after all. They knew, relatively speaking, the extent of what she has always been capable off. All she needed was for it to somehow be grey.

Glancing over the instructions, Hermione acted out of movements before repeating them with the incantation. She seemed to circle her wrist for quite sometime before grey smoke began to filter from the tip of her wand. It was, thankfully, lighter than Harry's. She _almost_ couldn't believe it, a slow grin spreading across her face as she looked up at Merrythought.

The professor smiled kindly, "Great job, Miss Granger. That was absolutely nothing for you to be wor- oh my."

Hermione looked down to see the smoke had changed from grey to black. She dropped her wand almost instantly, but the damage was done. It seemed as though the night sky had blanketed the classroom floor, and students gasped could be heard from all around. Horrified, she looked around to see a mixture of faces that she was sure mirrored her own, as well as curious stares from some of the Slytherin (and questionable Gryffindor, if she was being honest with herself). She wasn't quite sure what to do, but her chest felt tight with panic as her mind clouded with fear.

It was worse than anything that could have possibly happened.

"Professor, I'm not sure…. I," Hermione swallowed her words, looked at Harry with a mixture of terror and confusion, and fainted.

# # #

Later that evening, she sat alone in the infirmary. Harry and Ron had come to visit her during lunch, their trepidation obvious as they all sat watching each other. It was fine by her, because she wasn't sure what she would have told them –or anyone, for that matter- if they'd asked. There was no easy way to tell your best friends and professors that you'd taken to studying Dark Magic over the summer -and that it seems as though it'd been for the best, all things considered. If everyone wanted to ignore it, she would too. It was better that way. It wasn't as though she was Dark Witch. She was apart of the Order, for Merlin's sake.

Still, it wasn't looking too good for her.

Sighing, she rolled over to see that Tom Riddle was standing near the foot of her hospital bed. Somehow, she resisted screaming. She was more curious than scared, anyway.

"Good evening," he told her as he sat down in a nearby chair, drawing his ankle to his knee. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," she told him, drawing her legs to her chest as she sat up.

"Yeah," he replied just as quickly as she had, his eyes like steel as they watched her. At her questioning look, he said, "You had one _fucking _job, Granger."

Offended, she asked, "Excuse me?"

"Why do you think I told you about the Aptitude test? Did you think I was feeling _friendly_?"

She swallowed heavily. "I thought you wanted to make the most of our 7th year, and positions as Heads."

He looked as though he couldn't quite believe what she was saying, and laughed coldly. "Listen. I don't care what you're up to, all right? I'll stay out of your way, and you'll stay out of mine. But the least you can do, Granger, is cover your ass."

He dropped a bundle of papers on the edge of her bed as he stood up. She recognized them as lecture notes instantly. It was odd to think _he _was scolding her –about Dark Magic usage, no less- and helping her. "Thank you."

Tom worked his jaw angrily. "Off the record, Merrythought will retest you at the end of the week," he told her before walking away.

"Riddle," she called, low enough to keep them out of trouble. "How'd you do it?"

He looked over his shoulder, a funny frown on his face. "Ambition," he told her. "Preservation. Attributes you seem to lack."

The silence that followed seemed to be deafening. Not only was she uncomfortably aware of the fact that Tom Riddle had been the only one levelheaded enough to treat her no differently then he had within the last twenty-four hours, but also brought her detailed lecture notes. It was far more then what anyone had done for her. And it was _weird_.

As though no time at all had passed, she heard him call, "A _week_, Granger," just before the doors shut soundly.

**.**

**FOUR**

The words echoed in her head for hours that night, and hadn't stopped as she prepared for classes the next day. In fact, they rang in her ears for the entire week, her confusion and ever-growing misunderstanding seeming to block any personal attempt to _do_ something about the state of her future. Instead, all she could focus on was throwing herself into her schoolwork. It was the only familiar part of herself, and it was safe to study school related topics. It left no room for her to pick up books on Dark Magic, or anything too closely related to topic, and it gave her an opportunity to get ahead –which she hadn't been able to do before classes started.

Her dutifulness to her coursework made it easier for everyone else, as well. It gave her little time to associate with her friends and classmates, anymore than she had to as a Head, at least, and it gave them the opportunity to politely ignore her. It was still the best option, because she was still unsure what to say about what had happened.

She also didn't really have a plan to change the outcome of her spell, either –save for not allowing it to go on for so long next time. Somehow, she was comforted by the fact that everyone would officially know that she was someone to look out for, and secretly hoped that they would somehow connect her to what had happened in Italy. If they knew, they would lock her away somewhere, and even she wouldn't have to deal with herself. It was an easier option, and likely a safer one as well.

Footsteps distracted her from her self-pity, reminding the witch that she'd been studying. Before she could completely concentrate, someone pulled the chair across from her away from the table.

"Granger," Tom greeted, hanging his bag on the back of the chair. His presence really solidified the fact that the end was near.

"I'm not sure what I did to convince you that we were _friends,_ Riddle."

He sat down, causing her to sigh deeply. "As charming as that idea is, Granger, it isn't why I'm here," he told her tiredly.

She looked up at him exasperatedly. "Then _what_, Riddle? I really don't have time-"

"Make time, then," he suggested, as though he weren't at all aware of her situation.

If she hadn't been on her last pot of ink, she would have pelted it at him.

"Anyhow, I'm sure you'll find what I have to say enlightening and inspiring."

Hermione scoffed, but set her quill down anyway.

Tom checked his watch. "You've about an hour before you have it take –retake, excuse me," he almost smiled, "your Aptitude Test."

She picked up her quill and continued to organize her Potions notes.

"It's interesting to me that you –of all people, Granger- have given up on it."

Her hand burned, but she refused to scratch it. Instead, she continued to work. "Subjective."

He hummed. "So you don't mind the claims that you're a secret Grindelwald supporter?"

"Not so secret, anymore. Perhaps it's time you come out. As Head Boy and Girl, I'm sure we'll cause quite the scandal."

He looked away, laughing. "It's bull shit."

"I haven't given up - I don't care what _anyone_ has to say about me, so long as I know who I am."

"And who _are_ you, Granger?" he looked back at her. "I must admit that I'm a bit curious, given the circumstance."

Her eyes fell closed as she rubbed her temples. She wasn't completely sure, but that was the last thing she wanted to admit to him, of all people.

"Someone who knows when to get off her horse." She looked him blankly, tiredly, unable to hide anything anymore.

What she'd done seemed to dance on her tongue, just waiting for her to open her mouth. Really, it was better Tom Riddle knew then Harry Potter. At least he would understand what Dark Magic could do to a person. He already seemed to know, anyway. She doubted her telling him anything would be a shock.

But, as her lips parted, all that came out was, "If that's all-"

"Will you be stepping down as Head Girl, then?"

"I've yet to decide," she told him plainly. "_Please_, what is the meaning of this, Riddle? This is the first time we've spoken to each other since we started Hogwarts, and I dare say we've shared enough words to last a few lifetimes."

He smirked, but his amusement was fleeting. "Here I thought we were enjoying this."

Hermione refocused on her task. She couldn't believe herself, not really, because she was suddenly genuinely interested in what he had to say. But, she refused to take the bait, and after a few minutes his fingers drummed against the table.

"I usually don't care to get involved with my rivals personal crisis', but as you stated, you are my counterpart for the year –and you _are_ better than Patil, regardless of how lovely she is," he let his words hang only long enough for her to fidget uncomfortably.

She rubbed her hand.

"-I'll make an exception. You are generally competent-"

"Do you make it a point to drag out _every_ conversation? I'm growing quite bored."

He propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand, as though he knew she was lying. "As you know, Britain –and all Europe, for that matter- is dealing with terror cells and so called Dark Lords-"

"So _called_?" She questioned angrily. "My best friend lost his parents to a 'so called' Dark Lord. One _you _support, Riddle. So, if this the shit you're taking up my time with-"

"Best friend?" He questioned, eyebrow rising. "I suppose I _did _overhear him giving you a half-assed defense to some rather cruel Ravenclaw. He hasn't really done much to defend you from your House, though."

"What happens in Gryffindor is none of your business, Riddle." Honestly, nothing had happened in her House. At least, not while she was around.

"As Head Boy," he started imperiously.

"You will concentrate on your House, and I will focus on my own. The other two are our only shared business."

He watched her blankly for a few seconds too long before nodding firmly. As though nothing had happened, he said, "Their prevalence has drawn the attention of many countries Ministries, and the international court has required them to do something in order to stop the growth of poisonous regimes."

She sighed. "Riddle. Please. I do read the Prophet."

"And that does appear to be _all_ you do, Granger," he pounded his fist on the table, leaning closer and staring at her with eyes she'd never seen before. At least, not on him. He actually cared about what he was saying. He believed it.

She tugged a hand through her hair.

"Because you can't even realize that these Aptitude Tests came from nowhere. 'It's good to know,'" he mocked Merrythought as he scoffed, shaking his head. "It's good for the _Ministry_ to know who they need to look out for. They're weeding out the weak."

"You think those who practice Dark Magic are weak?" She asked, flustered.

He looked at her as though she'd grown three heads before relaxing in the library chair, glancing around as though he couldn't believe they were having this conversation. It made two of them, because she was incredibly unsure what was happening was even real. It was more ridiculous than anything.

"I think the Ministry knows we aren't."

She laughed, quickly and uncomfortably, fiddling with her quill in attempt to distract herself from how odd the entire situation was. He'd just pitted them together. In a matter of a week, she'd gone to never saying more than absolutely necessary to the wizard, to being spoken of as 'we.' It was mental, and she told him so.

"You sound crazy, Riddle."

She looked back up at him as he ran his tongue over his teeth, parting the soft pink of his lips- and Hermione hated herself for even noticing. She was also growing disturbingly upset with herself for being so wrapped up in herself that she hadn't even considered what he was saying. He wasn't crazy at all. He was probably right.

"Yeah. Well, it's working out for me, because _I'm _not giving up everything I've worked for. I'm not going on their list in forty minutes, Granger."

She couldn't fault him there. Despite she and her friends being able to see straight through him, the majority of the school thought him faultless. Though, Hermione could, unfortunately, understand their belief. He was superficially handsome and unbelievingly charming and kind when he had to be. He had everyone fooled. She, on the other hand, was losing her shit, and it seemed that everyone knew, though they kindly didn't mention it.

_They probably think Grindelwald will come after them_, she thought to herself, and somehow resisted laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. The school was politely avoiding her like the plague –not that they didn't have reason-, and Tom Riddle was attempting to talk her down from what she was sure would be the second biggest mistake of her life.

"Are you trying to help me, Riddle?" She asked, her uncertainty obvious.

"I can't ignore the fact that you are one of the better minds of our generation, Granger. It'd be a shame for you to go down for something so trivial."

"You think having an affinity for the darkest of magic is 'trivial?'" She asked thinly, her eyes like stones as she watched him.

He looked as though he wanted to take back his compliment, slouching in his seat as he rubbed his forehead. She wanted laughed, because it was the same thing she'd watched him do during a conversation with Nott at dinner the night before.

"I can't say I'm surprised, I just…this is all odd, isn't it? You and I, talking up conspiracies in the library?"

He shook his head, laughing as he looked away from her. "You're still going to flunk it, aren't you?"

"It's hardly flunking if I'm doing the spell right."

He reached into his blazer for something. "You bloody Gryffindors and your righteous, bravery shit. It's going to get you in a lot trouble, you know? They're going to watch you for the rest of your life."

"Maybe they should. I'm not so good, after all."

His eyes fell to the bandage on her hand, and it was so _obvious_ in that moment that he'd known all along. It was likely everyone in Slytherin knew, which made sense, all things considered. They hadn't treated her any different than normal, though she didn't doubt that probably sat around laughing about her naivety.

Pulling her hand off the table, she asked, "Why do you care?"

Tom worked him jaw, seemingly angrily. As he got up, he handed her an envelope. Ignoring the question, he said, "This arrived to the Head's office for you last night."

She looked down to see her mother's handwriting, and sudden relief filled her. It'd been a week since she'd written the letter.

"Some guidance, little witch." Her heart stopped. "There is no such thing as good or evil. Only power- and those too weak to seek it. The Ministry knows it. And now, so do you.

"You've been given a second chance. Use it."

With a nod of his head, he walked away, calling out that she had twenty minutes before disappearing into the bookshelves.

Hermione sat for a few minutes, considering what it meant that Riddle was _genuinely_ helping her. She knew, logically, that he wanted something from her. But, she wasn't sure what, especially considering the fact that they didn't even know each other. There wasn't much for her to offer him, anyway.

Running her nail over the top edge of the envelope, she pulled her mother's postcard from inside. On the front was a photo of a Grecian beach she spent summers at as a child. She flipped it over to read: _Dearest Hermione: Do what you need to do. Our head is over our heart for a reason, Jeannie. Lots of love, Mum. P.S., I cleaned Loki's teeth today! What a charmer. His next appointment is for when you're home…He's _single_! x Mum_

Blushing, Hermione set the card and envelope face down on the table, laughing as she checked her watch. She had a little over ten minutes before she needed to be in DADA, and though it was strange to know her mother supported Tom's bid for self-preservation, it made things easier. The only problem now was that she wasn't sure she had enough time to figure out what spell he'd used on the first day of classes.

As she looked down at the table to gather her papers, she realized that there was something written on the back of the envelope. The penmanship was small and careful; strangely familiarly, though she couldn't quite place it. It was until she read the message until she realized who it was from.

Tom. He'd given her the modified spell.

Hermione laughed so loudly that she got put out of the library.

**.**

**FIVE**

Hermione sat through class shaking. She did her best not to distract Neville, pulling her cloak tight around her and claiming a cold, as she took detailed notes on Merrythought's lecture, but she was sure that she was making him just as nervous as she was. There were nearly fifteen minutes left in class, which meant fifteen minutes to find out if Tom had been right about them giving her another opportunity to take the Aptitude Test.

As time continued to tick away, she found herself growing agitated. If he'd been right about the Ministry watching them, and taking note of their results, she was royally and absolutely _fucked_. She'd never get the opportunity to work for the Department for the Regulation and Care of Magical Creatures, or _anywhere _of value, for that matter, and her life would truly be ruined.

She looked over her shoulder to see that he was paying her no mind.

It wouldn't take that long for her to do it. Really, it would just take a second. But, if he'd been lying….if he'd only wanted her to admit that she'd done something wrong…

"Now, there were a few of you who were unable to execute your Aptitude on Monday."

Hermione perked up.

"If you all would please form a queue here at the front of the room, we'll be able to get through them all before the end of class. Good, good – thank you. Shouldn't take too long, now. Now, no need to be nervous. You'll all do just fine."

She was sure that no one else had fainted after preforming the spell, but she had heard that a few had malfunctioned –some turning red or purple, others producing water in place of smoke. There were only three other people between Slytherin and Gryffindor needed to take the test again, and as she waited for them complete their tests, she found herself debating whether or not she really wanted to go through with the modified spell.

Maybe it was a good thing that the Ministry would be watching her. Maybe she needed them to monitor her magic for anything too Dark or dangerous. It was obvious, after all, that she wasn't incredibly capable of taking care for herself.

She glanced at Tom to see that he was watching Theodore Nott retake his test, his mouth ticking as Nott's spell turned a solid grey color around him. It would have been more similar to the shade his had been if Nott had put a little more of himself into it, and Hermione realized that Tom had offered his modified spell to a few students, an odd feeling sweeping over her as she realized she would be clumped with them forever. Another Slytherin went, giving her the opportunity to run through all of the Latin she knew as she attempted to further alter the spell.

As her turn came, she chanted the altered incantation under her breath, watching the tip of her wand with almost morbid fascination. It was the first time she'd ever purposely changed a spell, during school at least, and it felt strangely good to be doing something for herself, for once. Though, she doubted that she'd ever admit that to anyone.

Suddenly, dove grey smoke snaked from the tip of her wand, filling the area around her almost potently. Hermione sucked in her cheeks in attempt not to smile, as it would have been incredibly childish of her to do so, but as Merrythought clapped joyfully, she couldn't help but look down, her hair falling over her face as she grinned to herself.

She continued to rotate her wrist, eyes focused and jaw set, waiting for the smoke to change color. Slowly, but surly, the dove coloring faded, and she could practically feel the relief flooding the classroom. White smoke funneled from her wand. Pure and pristine as it surrounded her: exactly what was expected of her.

Merrythought praised her happily, and as Hermione tucked her wand back into her sleeve, she realized that she would likely never be questioned about what had happened on Monday. Just as Tom had worked to craft himself ideally in the eyes of his professors and peers, she'd done the same.

As Harry patted her shoulder, she wondered if the fact that she'd done it unknowingly should mean anything to her. But as her Housemates chatted happily around her, her previous spell forgotten, she realized that it didn't matter.

At the last moment, just as the bells chimed to single the end of class, Hermione looked up, in no particular direction at all. Tom stood a few feet away from her, hands tucked into his pockets as their eyes met. He smirked at her, winking before he turned and left.

She only realized she was the last one left in the room when Professor Merrythought touched her arm, a large, relieved smile on her face. "I knew it just a malfunction, my dear. I'm truly happy you got that sorted out. Better that way. Wouldn't want your future…well, it's happened to the best of us. Now, off you go. I've fifth years to prepare for."

The witch resolved to seek out Tom later that evening.

* * *

**A/N: **Next update in a few days. Hope you all enjoyed this (:


	3. part two

**Disclaimer: **I am not JK Rowling; this word and it's characters belong to her.

* * *

**PART TWO**

**.**

**SIX**

Somehow, an evening turned into a week. And a week became a month.

Hermione thought up every reason she could to stay away from Tom, but found that she couldn't quite stop herself. There was something that constantly drew her to him –not every night, but it was close enough. She figured it had something to do with the fact that she still believed he somehow knew what she'd done, and if she were around him, he wouldn't be off telling anyone else.

It was pathetic, but it worked for her.

Looking up from her Arithmancy assignment, she drew the claret-colored featherhead of her quill over her lips and asked, "How much do they know?"

Hermione watched as Tom finished reading his Potions assignment. The seconds seemed to drag on, heavy and hard against her in the stillness of the room. Office hours ended nearly an hour ago, but they continued to sit together, working on separate tasks in shared solitude. It wasn't something she chose to dwell on, because she wasn't ready to accept the fact that she actually _liked _his company. But, she was willing to admit that there was something about it that left her comforted; and when she was forced to consider what it meant –beyond her irrational belief that she was saving herself-, she told herself it was just nice to be around another person who valued knowledge and the power of silent contemplation.

"How much does _who_ know, Granger?" He asked, setting his book aside as he looked over at her.

His eyes, somehow blank and fierce and annoyingly smug, reminded her that they never spoke to each other. Any conversation she'd had with him –and there had been plenty, oddly enough- had happened in her head.

She drew a circle on her paper in an effort to seem busy and uneager. "Your," friends wasn't the right word, and she visibly struggled to find the right one under his gaze before finally saying, "fellow Slytherin."

He smirked. "About what, Granger? _Us_?"

"No," she said quickly, unable to stop the uncomfortable embarrassment that flashed across her features. Thinking of them as 'us,' was incredibly unsettling.

He chuckled. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"About _me_, Riddle." She was certain he was going me make her say it. The way his vision narrowed and body slouched so causally against his chair told her so. As she looked down, gathering her thoughts and considering what she could possibly say, he said, "No one cares, Granger."

Her eyes met his instantly.

He chuckled, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "A few 5th years mentioned that they were considering looking past your less-then blood status, in light of," he frowned thoughtfully before saying, "your situation."

Nodding to himself, as though satisfied with his words, his eyes meet hers again. "I overhead some 7th years claiming that that'd always known this would happen to _you_, Granger. Others are more-or-less curious about your awakening-"

"My _awakening_?" She questioned, absolutely offended.

His eyes hardened, as he seemed to grow angry with her, before falling pointedly to her still-injured hand. Although he was across the room, ensuring that he couldn't see anything of her wet-with-blood bandages, she still pulled it off her desktop nervously, her breath catching in her throat.

"As I was saying, they are curious about your awakening to yourself and the full potential of your magic, but it ultimately matters not to them." He shrugged, looking back at his work, and for some reason it hurt.

Perhaps it was because it meant that she was afraid and insane for no reason. Because it meant that he didn't care, either. For some reason, it mattered; and it was upsetting because there was no reason for it to.

"Good," she heard herself say.

Tom laughed.

She packed up her things and left.

**.**

**SEVEN**

"Hermione?"

The witch looked up from her journal to find Ginny standing in their dorm room doorway. She smiled, pushing the book away as she sat up. "Yeah, Gin?"

"Do you want to go for a walk?"

Smiling, she said, "I really can't right now. The deadline for my _Young Wizards of Magical Law_ essay is next week, and-"

"Tom Riddle is standing in the common room. He wants to speak with you."

Hermione tugged a hand through her hair, pulling the heavy mass of curls over her shoulder. "What?"

"Tom Riddle. Our Head Boy. He's in the common room, waiting for you."

Inhaling deeply, she found herself frowning at her friend, uncertain that she really understood what was being said.

"What does…_Why_?"

"You tell me, 'Mione. You're the one he's here for. You're the one hanging out with him." Ginny leaned on the doorframe, folding her arms over her chest. "Just because you all are Heads doesn't mean you have to be _friends_, you know? Don't forget what he's done –who he supports, Hermione."

She shouldn't have felt upset with her friend. Ginny had her own reasons for hating Tom, and they were _good_. She was right, anyway. It wasn't such a good idea to forget anything they suspected he'd done. But, it was easier.

And she _was_ upset.

"Should I just tell him you're busy? That you can't hangout? It's no problem."

"No," Hermione answered to quickly. She winced as the cold look Ginny gave her. "I'm sure he has a valuable reason for coming here, Ginny."

"And you can make time for him?"

"Yes," she answered measuredly.

"Is this…is this about what happened?" At Hermione's silence, Ginny said, "It's okay, you know? If…if what happened the first time was real. The boys may not get it, Hermione, but I do. I know what Dark Magic can do, and I'm here, if you ever need anything.

"Riddle isn't your only option."

Hermione smiled at her friend before pulling a turtleneck over her head, hoping she didn't look sad. She wasn't. She was more embarrassed than anything else.

"Dumbledore encouraged me," she heard herself saying. It wasn't a lie. She'd told him about what she'd done –not about the Ruins, but that she'd started studying the Dark Arts and that she couldn't seem to stop. "I told him I wasn't sure what was happening –to me, Ginny; to my mind and magic-, and he told me that great witches and wizards were always curious. Always learning."

For what it was worth, Ginny didn't seem shocked at all. Instead, she asked, "Did he ask you to keep an eye on Tom?"

Hermione wondered if the red was giving her an out, or if she was genuinely curious. It didn't matter. "Yes," she murmured, no shame for the way lies seemed to fall from her lips so easily.

Ginny nodded understandingly, her eyes critical as they watched Hermione pull a short robe around her shoulders. "I'll talk to the boys, then."

"Thank you," she whispered.

Before she could pass, the younger grabbed her hand. The disbelief in her eyes didn't even hurt, not in the way it should have, at least. "I'm still here, though, Hermione. I'm still your friend."

Hermione nodded, squeezing Ginny's hand before disappearing down the hall and steps.

Tom was talking with a fifth year near the doorway when she spotted him, a hard look freezing his face. But, he smiled when he realized she was approaching, easily dismissing the younger wizard. She realized that this was dangerous and horrible. He couldn't be here. He shouldn't be here. It would ruin everything for her.

And yet, he was; unashamed and unaffected by the slight tension that filled the common room air. In fact, the gentle curve of his lips and quiet calmness of his eyes only made the tension unnecessary. She would have laughed if she weren't so embarrassed…and so excited.

"You're late for rounds," he announced. It was a lie, and she was certain it was for her. For her image and fear and status. Because Tom could care less if they were seen together, or about her affinity for Dark Magic.

It was her, and her fellow Gryffindor –god, were they really that sick; was it really true that they too were prejudice?-, that cared.

After a few minutes of walking, he looked down at her, humor playing over his features. "You're revoltingly Muggle today, Granger."

"I got this at Madame Malkin's, thank you for asking."

He coughed to cover a laugh, and every nerve ending she had seemed to think it was a call to attention. "Perhaps its something skin-deep," he remarked.

"Yeah," she nodded, ignoring the way her heartbeat stumbled at the lack of venom in his words. She couldn't believe it was happening. She was sure he would kill her. "At least I'm not wearing Converse."

Tom tilted his head back and laughed, so loudly that it echoed off the stonewalls of the castle. She felt acutely aware of the fact that she was being tested. And she understood that she would fail, at least from her standpoint.

The look he gave her as he stepped out of the castle dared her to follow. To take the next step. To give in. She wondered if he knew, watching as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and lit one, unable to comprehend his nerve. Unable to comprehend anything.

"We need to talk, Granger."

Hermione agreed, and followed him without a second thought.

# # #

Hermione sat down on the windowsill, watching as Tom leaned against the wall opposite her. She felt hot and uncomfortable after walking the castle and it's grounds with him, her mind full of his disturbing theories on the Wizarding world. Without being completely sure why he was even talking to her, she wasn't sure how to take anything he was sharing. It was almost as though he was priming her. And it was disturbing.

"How do you know?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest.

He rolled his eyes, tugging a hand through his curls.

She huffed. "How do you know, Riddle?"

Tom sighed. "You ask too many questions, Granger."

"Because I need answers!"

"No, you don't," he told her coldly, dark eyes boring into hers almost cruelly.

"Yes, I do. I can't do _this_ if I don't know. It's unfair."

"To who? To Potter? To you precious Weasleys?"

"To _me_," she stressed. Swallowing, she asked, "It's him, isn't it? Grindelwald."

Tom shook his head, looking away from her.

"He asked you to do this, too, didn't he?"

"No," he answered quickly, looking back at her.

"Then, why? I can't think of any reason you would put up with me for this long. Why you would be telling me _any_ of this, if it weren't for him?"

"You made yourself interesting," he told her, as though it were the obvious explanation for the last month.

"I made myself _interesting_?" She questioned, deeply offended.

He smirked. "Imagine that, Granger. After seven years of classic, Gryffindor senselessness, all it took was a poorly taken care of wound and a little Dark Magic." At her indignant look, he continued, "Consider all you could have learned if you'd been honest with yourself first year."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Riddle?"

He seemed taken back. "Exactly what it sounds like."

"You're ridiculous," she told him, suddenly realizing that she was, too. She couldn't believe she'd spent the last month with him. It was humiliating to look back on. "This is ridiculous. It makes no sense."

He shrugged, as though he'd known she'd react that way.

It only served to further upset her. "In case you forgot, Riddle. I'm Muggleborn. Even _if_ I'd been more inclined toward the Dark Arts earlier, the _last_ place I would have gone was to _you_."

His eyes brows lifted, "You're into the Dark Arts?"

It would have been a monumental mistake with anyone else. But she didn't _care_, and heard herself say, "Arts, Magic. It's all the same thing to me. It's all bad. I'm completely betraying myself and my kind, either way."

"False. You're bettering yourself. I told you already, Granger. Good, evil. Light, dark. These are manmade concepts."

"Blood-status is manmade, too."

He agreed. "The last thing I care about is blood purity. All these ideas: they don't mean anything."

Hermione felt her mind reeling with questions and confusion. Instead of asking any of them, she said, "They govern our _world_, Riddle."

"Because of those in power."

She laughed. "And there is only power, right?"

"Of course."

Hermione got up, leaving him leaning against the wall. Before she got too far away, she turned to see that he was watching her with a furrowed brow. "Power is manmade, too."

"It's God-given," he countered, pushing off the wall and walking toward her.

It frustrated the witch to no end that she couldn't leave him standing there.

"_God-given_?" She questioned incredulously.

"Yes," he drew an arm over her shoulders. "You just have to use it, Hermione."

She couldn't think of a reply. Not because his argument didn't disserve one –because it _did_, desperately-, but, because she simply couldn't think. The weight of his arm, the heat of his body, the silence that quickly overtook her: it all worked to render Hermione completely speechless.

And Tom didn't seem shocked at all.

**.**

**EIGHT**

Ron laughed, kicking a soccer ball back to Harry haphazardly.

"He _said_ that?" The red asked, tugging the sleeves of his Quidditch jersey over his elbows. Looking over at Hermione, he drew his arms over his head, chest rising and falling quickly as he waited.

"I still can't believe your spending your free time with Riddle," Harry remarked, kicking the ball into the air a few times.

"Yes, he actually said that. I, if you can believe it," she laughed, "I was literally speechless. I still haven't thought of a response."

Ron laughed again. "God," he remarked humoredly. It felt like ice water had been thrown on her.

She realized that he didn't get it. Because Wizards didn't believe in God, at least not in the way the Muggles did. And he hadn't been there when Tom had called his name, so soundly and surely; it couldn't have been false, but she didn't think so. Ron just…didn't get it.

Hermione laughed uncomfortably before saying, "And, Harry, I _am _sorry if you're uncomfortable with it. Dumbledore…he asked me to do something, and I'm doing it."

"He asked you?" Harry asked, his uncertainty obvious.

Hermione let her eyes meet his, slow and sure as she watched him. It wasn't a stupid question at all, but she wanted him to feel that way. At length, she told them both, "I am an Order member. I am a Muggleborn witch. Everything that I am is _against_ Riddle and his Grindelwald-supporting acquaintances; and I am deeply offended that you, Harry, would think anything contrary to that. You've known me for years; you _know_ me."

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I'm not sure that I do."

"Harry!" Ron looked between the two of them quickly, his confusion obvious.

"I can't understand what Dumbledore would ask of you that would put you with Riddle, Hermione. I really don't. And your Aptitude test-"

"Don't you _dare_, Harry."

"Maybe both of you should cool it. Malfoy is coming; he doesn't need to hear the two of you acting completely mental."

They all looked at the pitch entrance to see the Slytherin crossing over to them, his face stony and red from the walk over.

"Isn't this charming," he smirked at them, amusement not reaching his eyes. "Preparing for your debut in the Muggle world, Weasley? Formidable teachers. Really the best of the best. Perhaps we should gather up a few of those bumbling Muggle Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. They'll really help you figure out what it takes to blend in."

"Muggleborn," Hermione murmured.

He looked at her, a cold look smoothing over his face briefly. "Pardon, Granger?"

"They're Muggle_born_, Malfoy. Muggleborn _witches_ and _wizards_. That's why we're here and not at some Muggle school."

"Right. Well, with those riveting and inspiring words, I need to speak with you, Granger. It'll just be a minute."

"About what?" Harry asked hotly.

Malfoy scowled effortlessly. "About the article she's working on for _Young Wizards of Magic Law_, Potter. It appears she and I are in agreement with our stance on the protection of magical land, and I'd like to discuss where she's sees herself in the future," he turned to look at Hermione. A small, knowing formed on his face, and something she couldn't catch flashed in his eyes just before he said, "I'm sure she and I could have a prosperous relationship."

"While I very much doubt that, I will speak with you-"

"Hermione," Harry started worriedly. It felt good to know that he at least cared enough to worry about her with him.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm politics, and you guys are prosecution. It'd be good for me to," she gestured to Malfoy, not wanting to connect herself to him at all, but curious enough about what he was planning to say to her. The fact that he'd sought her out was bait enough, really.

"Gentlemen," Malfoy spoke haughtily before walking off the pitch with Hermione. They stopped just outside of entrance, away from her friends prying eyes and ears.

"You've five minutes to tell me what you really want, Malfoy. After that, you and I go back to ignoring each other."

She felt angry and overwhelmed, not only about her conversation with Harry, but with Malfoy's timing in seeking her out. It wasn't looking incredibly well for her, but she didn't want _him_, of all people, to see her lose her cool. There was too much riding on her now.

"Wizard to witch," he started, and Hermione realized she wasn't levelheaded enough for the conversation.

"Wizard to _witch_, Malfoy?"

"Don't sound so surprised, Granger-"

"How could I not? You've done nothing but cut me, and those like me, down since starting at Hogwarts. You _just_ did not even five minutes ago. I've never been sure you've even known that we're apart of the species. So, _don't_, 'wizard to witch' me."

He smirked, his eyes catching fire, "I never pegged you as the self-depreciating type."

She rolled her eyes, "Say what you need to say, Malfoy."

His face hardened, jaw working as he looked away from her. The sun caught on his Grindelwald pin, forcing her to remember that she was standing with the enemy. That they were all her enemy. It caused her blood to chill and chest to hurt.

Malfoy looked back at her, his eyes like knives. "I know power, Granger," he told her simply, motioning for her to walk with him.

He got a few steps ahead of her as she considered her options. Harry and Ron were a safe distance away; if anything were to go wrong with her conversation, she need only scream and they'd come running. But, if she followed, she was giving up peace of mind…for what? To know what _Malfoy_ had to say?

Drawing her fingers through her hair, Hermione swallowed heavily before jogging after the Slytherin. He'd pulled his cloak collar closer around his neck, and tucked his hands into his pockets, a pensive look on his face.

After heavy silence, he said, "It doesn't take purity to recognize your potential, Granger. I'm sure that even poor little Myrtle can tell that you are…someone.

"You're point?"

"You're smarter than this. You, of all people, should know that you can't study Dark Magic while looking down your nose at it.

"It's something you're good at. Embrace it; it doesn't mean you have to embrace us."

Hermione frowned, "Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me? _Any_ of you, really; you all just keep _bothering_ me."

"Does it makes you uncomfortable?"

"That a bunch of Grindelwald supporters have taken an interest in me? Yes. It makes me uncomfortable. It doesn't make me look good."

"I feel sorry for you."

She couldn't hide her anger or disgust. He laughed.

"I'm also curious to know how your little of gang of brave, do-gooders will react to their star square being a Dark witch."

"I'm not a Dark witch."

"It feels good knowing that you have so much potential, but you're not even doing _well_ in your practice, or aftercare, for that matter." He looked down at her hand, still weeping as though it were a fresh wound. "You just have to give in, you know? A lot of people would respect you for it."

They stopped walking a few feet from the castle; Hermione turned to him and folded her hands over her chest. "What?" She asked quietly. "Are you going to give me the power is power talk, too?"

He moistened his lips, icy blue eyes smoothing over her in the most refined, provocative gesture she'd ever witnessed. She wasn't sure whether to be bothered or flattered, which only served to further upset her.

"It's true."

"Perhaps you're forgetting that my parents are Muggle."

"I can assure you, Granger, that you're birth and blood status are two things many of us remind ourselves of often."

"_Excuse_ me, you filthy-"

"Your _power_, Miss Granger," he cut in, false respect coating his words, "is a true subject of debate. You can ask anyone about it."

"Grindelwald put you up to this," she told him, barely even hearing herself. It wasn't everyday that she found out that a group of people she'd always been sure vehemently ignored her actually _debated_ her power and blood status –as though they needed to be discussed in tandem.

"He put you up to this because he thinks that getting to _me_ is getting to Harry. Well, I've got news for _you_, Malfoy, and racist old Grindelwald: I'm not interested. And even if I _was_ as impressionable as you all seem to believe I am, I am loyal to those who value _me_. There is nothing in you all's horrendous campaign that even begins to rouse me interests. I'm even above being uninterested, I am so bored and uncharmed by you insane lot of small-pond wizards."

"We could value you."

Hermione took a step back, looking briefly at the ground before meeting his eyes again. For the first time, she saw life spark within the Slytherin. He wasn't pulling her leg. He was being serious. And she wanted nothing more than to punch him in his throat or face.

"Get away from me," she told him. He blinked expressionlessness back onto his face. "You're a foul, repulsive liar of a wizard, Malfoy, and you should be ashamed of yourself for even _praying_ on me.

"You're a joke. You all could _value_ me? Everything you all represent," Hermione resisted wheezing, her chest rising quickly and heart beating painfully. Her vision grew blurry and spotted. "Why would-_How_? How could you value me? I'm nothing more than a filthy Muggle to you lot."

"You're a product of Muggles, Granger."

She shook her head. "You're contradicting yourself. Tell me the truth."

"You're the product of Muggles, but you're a witch. We could value you." His hand lifted and brushed her cheek in a motion that she could barely even catch. The feel of his skin, cold against her face, shocked her mind out of the fog she'd fallen into. She stepped further away from him, but before she was able to say anything more, he said, "In the same way we can appreciate their art or beauty."

She felt embarrassed and insulted at the same time, her face tingling fiercely. "Don't ever touch me again, Malfoy. You'll lose your fucking hand if you do."

Hermione turned away, storming up the castle steps and past Tom as she entered the double doors of the entrance. She looked at him coldly, the impassive state of his face like a sucker punch. It felt as though she were burying herself alive with each step she took away from the both of them. There was so much she had to say, so much she wanted to do to hurt and upset the both of them –all of them, really; absolutely everyone. But, it wasn't the right time. She wasn't sure if there would ever be time, but it wasn't right now.

"Granger," Tom called, she sound of his shoes clicking the stone floors once.

She didn't slow down or turn around. As she climbed the steps, she passed one of the Lestrange boys, who looked at her expectantly. She chose to stop, her eyes meeting his squarely.

"Tell Riddle to fuck off."

His brows raised, mouth falling open. Unsurprisingly, he didn't seem shocked at all. At her flat look, he smirked. "Will do, Miss Granger."

As Hermione stormed the hallways to her dorm, she realized that she'd never spoken to him before.

**.**

**NINE**

In attempt to return her life to it's regular state of stillness, Hermione agreed to have lunch with Marcus Belby at the Three Broomsticks. It was their first Hogsmeade weekend of the school year, and she was glad to have someone other the Harry, Ron, and Ginny to spend it with –not that she wasn't on good terms with them; on the contrary, she'd salvaged their relationship in little more than one evening, it just felt better to be away from them for a little while.

At least, she _had_ been glad that she had someone else to hangout with. As their meals arrived, Belby's questions turned from light and friendly to suggestions and remarks that left her full of discomfort. It was as though as she missing something important to their relationship.

"Excuse me?" She asked quietly, not sure that she'd heard the Ravenclaw wizard properly.

"I asked how Riddle was treating you, Hermione. You all haven't been very friendly with each other the last few days."

"Riddle and I aren't friends," she frowned, pushing her hair away from her face.

"Really?" Belby asked, a disbelieving smile almost instantly replacing his shocked expression. "That doesn't seem to be the case form where I'm standing, Hermione."

"No offense, Marcus, but last I checked, you aren't me, and you aren't Riddle, either. You have no reason to remark on anything that has to do with he and I."

"Why are you getting so defensive?" He asked, his eyes flashing as though he'd been waiting for this moment.

Hermione realized what this was about, and betrayal hit her harder than she'd ever expected it would. She'd felt the difference in him on the night before classes, and any other time they'd interacted, but she hadn't understood until right now why Tom constantly seemed to know more about him than she did. Marcus had changed sides over the summer, and the witch was disgusted with herself for taking so long to realize it.

She set her fork down on the table, looking down for a moment. As her eyes met his, she said, "You're a fucking hypocrite, Belby."

"_Belby_?" He questioned, laughing.

"Yes, and I suggest you start addressing me formally as well." She stood up, pulling her cloak over her shoulders before setting some money on the table.

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, don't insult me-" he made to push the money back in her direction.

"No. You don't insult _me_, Belby. I don't hang out with fucking Grindelwald supporters."

"Then you should really rethink your friendship with Riddle."

"Don't," she pointed at him angrily before buttoning up her cloak. "I'm an Order member. I'm a Muggleborn. I am _so_ proud of who I am and what I stand for."

She couldn't believe she had to explain herself again.

"Keep telling yourself that, _Granger_."

Swallowing, Hermione turned and left quickly.

# # #

After leaving the Three Broomsticks, Hermione found Harry to inform him that she was going to head back to the castle, and that he was officially in charge, should anything happen. She felt too embarrassed by herself to remain, and told him so before hurrying away. Before she could make it out of Hogsmeade, she walked into Tom, who stopped her with a curious look in his eyes. Before she could apologize and keep moving, he smirked at her.

"Have a drink with me."

_No_, she thought, seeing Nott watching them from the Honeydukes window. She didn't want to be involved in whatever they were trying to involve her in. She didn't want to be seen with him. She didn't even want people to think about seeing her with him. She wasn't a Dark witch, and she didn't _want_ to be one.

But, she suddenly wasn't in control. She hadn't been in months.

"Ok."

He smirked, tucked his hands into his pockets, and led the way to Hog's Head pub.

**.**

**TEN**

"It was my understanding that you and Belby were still dating."

"Why do you care?"

He ran his tongue over his teeth before knocking back the rest of his Fire Whiskey –Hermione pointedly ignored the fact that he was even drinking it, quietly nursing a Butterbeer.

"Why did you put he and Malfoy up to speaking with me?" She continued.

"Perhaps for the same reason you agreed to have a drink with me."

"I don't know why I agreed. I just…did."

His brows rose, but she couldn't say that he really looked all that surprised. "I wanted to talk to you about something that isn't related to Hogwarts, or Head's business."

"Okay," she murmured, glancing at the door as someone came in. Looking back at Tom, she realized that he recognized the wizard; his eyes followed him as he walked over and sat down at the bar. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I thought I'd pick up where Lucius left off."

Hermione swore. He offered her his Head Boy smile, squinting his eyes to make it less obvious that he wasn't at all amused or genuine. She knew where the conversation was going, and chose to end it as quickly as possible.

"You aren't very intelligent if you believe I'm going to study Dark magic with _you_, Riddle. I do not support Grindelwald; why would I study with his future henchmen? For them to know my weaknesses?"

"It's interesting that you believe me to be a Grindelwald supporter."

"Aren't you?"

He smirked. "I align myself with power, Granger."

"Which is why we're suddenly friends?"

He shock was true and fleeting. "We're friends?"

They sat in uncomfortable silence before Hermione began to laugh, which caused Tom to chuckle as well. "I'm going to get another drink, Granger. Would you like one?"

"No."

"Right. You think on our friendship. I will be back momentarily."

She watched him leave, sipping her Butterbeer. He stood next to the man from earlier, nodding politely before ordering another drink. As he waited, the pair had a conversation, and Hermione wondered why she was waiting for him. There was nothing for her to gain from being around Tom, regardless of the fact that he was generally better company than everyone else in her life. He was dangerous, and ruthless, with no concern for anyone that couldn't do something for him.

And now she was one of those people. But…he could do something for her, as well. His knowledge of Dark magic extended far beyond anything within her reach –at least, at the moment-, and he had access to men and women who lived and breathed Darkness. If he didn't have an answer to one of her questions, she was sure he would find one for her. He also seemed sane enough, which is something she wasn't sure she could manage on her own. The level of understanding she could walk away at the end of 7th year, the amount of _help_ she could provide Harry with when the time came.

Her eyes fell close for a moment. Was false security in studying Dark magic worth compromising her morals?

Tom sat back down with a smile.

_Yes._

"That wizard bought you another Butterbeer," he told her, sliding an unopened bottle across the table.

She didn't acknowledge it. "I can only presume that you're being frank with me because you want more than you think I'm willing to give."

His eyes danced before he gestured at the bottle. "You aren't going to offer him thanks?"

"I don't accept drinks from strange men."

He smirked. "You were leaving, when you walked into me?"

"Yes."

"So you left Potter in control, then?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "Let's hope he and Malfoy don't have to work together on anything then." He knocked back his whiskey and stood up, "Let's head back to the castle, Granger."

"It's incredible to me that you believe I'd want to go anywhere with you."

Tom drew his cloak over his shoulders before, watching her blankly before saying, "I can guarantee that I will not attempt to hurt you while we are Hogwarts students, wizard's honor."

It was a heavy oath to make. She did her best to seem unaffected by it. "What do you _want_, Riddle?"

"To ensure that I have a competent opponent when the time comes, Granger. What else?"

She stood up, clasping her cloak at her neck, a thousand possibilities for what he wanted passing through her head. It didn't make sense. She shouldn't…she _couldn't_…

He offered her his arm. She took it.

# # #

His eyes were like quicksand.

She cursed.

Tom leaned in and brushed his lips against the curve of her cheek, "Give in."

Hermione closed her eyes. The warmth of the castle caused her palms to sweat. "To what, Riddle? To you?"

He chuckled, his nose brushing up her face before he pressed a kiss to her temple. Her breath caught in her throat. Everything was unreal. She counted the seconds before she woke up, uncertain of how she'd even gotten here with him. The walk back seemed to blur in her mind, an endless loop of pointless conversation about meaningless topics: rounds, Halloween dinner, the benefits of Basilisk's venom after being poisoned by Dark magic –as though _anyone_ had that laying around.

His mouth dragged over her skin as he said, "To yourself, little witch. To power."

It shouldn't have been so gentle or so soothing. She shouldn't have felt her shoulders relax and mind quiet at the nearness of him. And the last thing the witch needed was to tilt her chin up, and smooth her lips over his jaw.

But, _Merlin_, if it wasn't right.

She would have been lying to herself if she said she felt anything but stillness with his proximity. There was no need for her to do or be anything more than she was. He didn't ask for anything more than she already was –even if she felt him gearing and growing and yearning…she was too, after all. And it was okay.

Everything was okay. Which was far more than she could say about any other time in her life, with anyone else.

Tom wrapped his fingers around the small of her wrist, drawing over her pulse point fluidly –distractingly. He was firm and warm, his skin softer and touch kinder than she'd ever expected.

Hermione swallowed, quickly trying to regain some sense of self. Of her old self –the one that worried and fretted and wouldn't have been caught dead so near to such a cruel and evil person. But, that girl wasn't there. Not anymore.

As though he knew, he chuckled, letting go of her wrist and stepping away from her. It took every ounce of her dissipating self-control to stand still –because her mind suddenly reeled, afraid and alone and too quickly, disturbingly, loud.

"I," she started, relatively uncertain of what she even wanted to say.

He waited. Patiently. Expectantly. As though he knew that there was some sort of expelling process she needed to go through. She couldn't say she was even surprised anymore. He wanted _something_ from her, and she was too willing to offer every inch and more to him. But, she was scared. So, he would wait.

She _knew_ this. But, that quiet felt so good. She didn't care.

"I can't let go of the person I was, Riddle." She looked down. "She is an important part of who I am."

"I would never ask for anything I didn't believe you capable."

She laughed, breathy and short, her disbelief as clear as the floor beneath them. "Forgive me if I have a difficult time believing that."

He made to touch her again, but didn't. "When you realize that you are less like _them_, and more like me, Hermione-"

Her heart stopped. Time stopped. She was absolutely sure that the entire world had simultaneously turned against and became wholly for her. All because he'd spoken her _name_ –Merlin. It was stupid. She was stupid.

She couldn't help it.

"-you'll stop dragging all of this around with you."

Tom took another step away from her, just barely over arms length away. It was too far. "It _is_ easier…being free."

"You mean being yours."

He didn't agree with her, but he didn't deny it either. Instead, he lifted one eyebrow casually. Waiting.

She swallowed thickly, glancing at her watch. "I have to go to Charms."

He smiled, slowly and handsomely as he stepped out of her way. "Okay."

If was only after she'd rounded the corner that she remembered it was Saturday.

* * *

**A/N: **I realize that HG seems really flighty, and that may not be something you all consider in character. Super sorry if thats the case. Hopefully you can still enjoy the story, because will make more sense later. Anyhow, see you all again soon. Thanks for your reviews (:


	4. part three

**Disclaimer: **I am not JK Rowling; this world belongs to her.

**Trigger Warning: **Mild drug usage and mention of death/murder.

* * *

**PART THREE**

**.**

**ELEVEN**

"Do you think…do you think they'll lock me up?

Dumbledore sighed. "No, Hermione. They won't lock you up. This will never leave my office."

Her eyes went wide. "I don't understand, Professor. You're the Headmaster. If they found out that you _knew_ I forged my Aptitude Test, on top of _everything_, you'd be disgraced."

"Which is precisely why this conversation never happened. There is…I have done far worse during my post here.

"Not mentioning that one of my star pupils –my _prized _Order member- helped herself in a situation that very well could have been her downfall- it is the very least of what I've done, Hermione."

His words were conformation that Tom had been right to be concerned about the outcome. She realized that she needed to be relatively grateful to him, because she wasn't sure what would have happened if he hadn't given her the modified spell.

"I can only ask that you forgive me for not helping you myself. I know how difficult is can be to discover a modification that works. If you don't mind my asking, how did you do it?"

Hermione felt her demeanor change, her mind blanking and disinterest settling over her warmly. She considered that it must be a symptom of spending too much time with Slytherins, and in that moment it would have been monumentally easier to simply lie. Or to tell him at least part of the truth, but…

"I considered not doing it…I thought, perhaps, it would be better if everyone knew, because I have known for quite some time that I am skilled in –or, rather, that Dark Arts come for more naturally to me than what one would consider Light. And I've realized that I am not as prepared as one would believe me to be, in terms of dealing with what it all means."

"And what does it mean, Hermione?"

She frowned, "That I'm Dark. That I'm…dangerous."

He hummed thoughtfully. "In the Dark Arts, or Dark magic?"

"Is there a difference?"

He smiled gently at the wide-eyed witch, seeming to be charmed by her innocence. "Of course there is a difference. You are not a Dark witch. You do not have to worry about what many others must. You have known love, and are surrounded by it. You experience love everyday, and you carry it in your heart.

"Those who practice the Dark Arts, they do not have access to such support, nor do they have the capability to understand such things.

"You are _good_, Hermione."

She couldn't find it in her to tell him she wasn't.

"The type of magic you're good at means nothing, so long as you use it wisely. I do not doubt that you will."

Hermione glanced at her watch and saw that it was nearly time for her rounds. Remembering that she'd also come to find out about what had happened Halloween night, she asked, "Have you heard any more about Myrtle?"

"Confidentially speaking, she is dead. We will inform the school on Friday, at supper, and the Ministry has agreed to us having a week's grievance for this horrible occurrence; students are allowed to remain here with the comfort of their friends, or they can return to the solace of their homes. We are all _deeply_ disturbed that something like this has occurred here."

"Professor, this _is_ home for many of us. Even my own parents, as proud and happy as they are that I finally have a place where I _belong_, are distant and uncertain in my presence. They don't understand what I'm learning or why.

"I cannot imagine the discomfort our younger students will feel, having to defend a world that they desperately want to be a part of, while it is so incredibly obvious it doesn't want _us_, to parents that already have reservations about this."

"You are truly worthy of your title this year, Hermione."

She almost laughed at the cool diplomacy of is answer.

"I have no doubt that you and your friends will continue to fight for the safety and security of this world, for all of its inhabitants."

She smiled, looking away from him. "Do her parents know?"

"I informed them myself barely an hour after we discovered her."

"When was that?"

"The morning of the second, Hermione."

"Does it…does her death her anything to do with the other disturbance the castle has experienced in the last week?"

"I cannot say no, Hermione."

"Ok. Ok…I understand. I should go. I have rounds."

"Of course. I'm glad that you came to speak with me, Hermione. I'm honored that you trust me."

She righted her robes as she stood up. "Tom Riddle," she told him. "That's…that's how I did it."

He offered her another thoughtful hum as they walked to the staircase. Before she could leave, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "Halloween dinner was planned very well, Miss Granger, given the circumstances. With the influx of Muggleborn students during a time of great discomfort in our world's history, it is important for both of our school's cultures to feel welcomed and included. I am glad that you are our Head Girl."

"Someone died on my watch, Professor. I'm going to go down in history as the Head Girl that got someone killed."

"That it not yours to bear. The safety of this castle is the Ministry and I's responsibility."

"Right. Well," Hermione nodded and started down the stairs, which began to move as soon as she stepped onto them.

Just before Dumbledore was out of sight, he said, "No better Head Boy for the circumstance, either."

It was a blessing enough her.

**.**

**TWELVE**

"Bellatrix," Hermione greeted, walking into the Head's office to see the witch sitting at Tom's desk.

"Mudblood," she smiled, the dark coloring of her lips adding to the cruel beauty she possessed.

"Charming as ever, Black. Charming as ever."

Hermione proceeded to set up her desk for the evening, pointedly ignoring the way Bellatrix made herself more and more comfortable at the Head Boy's station. She also ignored the way her skin seemed to burn the longer she was watched, the Slytherin's gaze seeming to set her aflame the longer she stared. Tom would be there soon, and he'd get her under control quickly enough.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" She asked, once she sat safely behind her desk. "Riddle is doing rounds in the Ravenclaw quarter, and he should be right over. Ten minutes, perhaps. I can help you, or you're welcome to comeback when he arrives."

Bellatrix continued to smile, her dark eyes watching Hermione as though she was her dinner. "Fortunately for you –less fortunate for myself, obviously, as I am forced to lower myself to have this conversation with _you_-, I'm here to speak with you, Granger."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You talk more than Riddle. I never thought it possible."

Anger flashed in her eyes as she got up form his desk, crossing the room and leaning over the Head Girl's desk menacingly. Hermione didn't want it, but she felt magic rush her, dark and heady in its potency. As though she'd felt it as well, Bellatrix smiled again, her anger turning to twisted joy.

"Isn't this cute?" She cooed. "Tom's got you under the belief that you are somebody? Why? Because you can do a little grown-up magic?

"I've got news for you, Granger. He's using you. He's planned this for ages. You're nothing but a vessel for him, and once he's _filled_ you, he's going to send you back to your little lions den, even filthier than you've ever been."

She smiled so prettily that Hermione worried she'd fall in love. Bellatrix had that sort of face; her only problem was that she was absolutely crazy and astonishingly racist.

"Do you think they'll take you back? Once he's had his fill? Do you think you'll be worth anything, anymore?"

"You think I'm worth something now? That is news to me."

Bellatrix laughed. "I may despise your kind, but I can _see_, Granger. I can _feel_." She grabbed Hermione's wrist, lifting it to her nose as though she could smell magic.

She ripped her hand away and stood up. "You should leave."

The office door opened, revealing Tom. He seemed surprised that Bellatrix was there, as he lingered outside of the entrance for a second too long. With a short, bored glance at the Head Girl, he started toward his desk.

"I thought you were out of the castle, Tom?"

It was news to Hermione.

"Obviously, I am not, Bella. Why are you here? What do you want?"

"Nothing. No reason," she glanced over her shoulder at Hermione, her look hard and cruel. "I was just leaving," she announced.

Before leaving, she leaned close to the Gryffindor and whispered, "You will be unrecognizable. Not a witch; not even a filthy Muggle. Just a shell of girl destroyed by a future Dark lord…and you come crawling back."

"Bella," Tom called. "I thought you were leaving."

Her eyes filled with true joy, dark and sparkling. "They won't want you, because they won't be able to even bear the scent of you and filthy blood. And I will laugh as you take a place as his little girl-pet. Because that is all that you are and will ever be."

"Bellatrix!" He slammed his hand down on the desk, causing both witches to jump.

"If he doesn't kill you first," she smiled, bid them both goodnight, and disappeared quickly.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

Hermione sat back down, doing her best to appear level-headed. "It's a filthy habit."

Tom looked up from his papers and smirked. He looked different, tired and worn against the grandness of his side of the office. She hadn't remembered him that way, and wondered if it was remorse. It was a wild and unfathomable idea, but it left her feeling a little better about the fact that she was sharing space with Myrtle's murderer.

He pulled something from his inner robe, the door clicking shut. "Granger, I believe you and Bella are obvious evidence enough."

She watched as he lit his joint, stunned to discover that he used drugs. It wasn't something she'd considered before, but it seemed like something he though below him. The rank smell lingered in the room for a moment before it disappeared, and he smirked when their eyes met.

"Evidence of what?" She asked quietly.

"My ever-growing list of filthy habits."

**.**

**THIRTEEN**

She waited for Tom to tell her what he'd done. She spent enough time with him. She made herself vulnerable enough before him. Yet, he didn't seem to notice. He carried on as though his eyes weren't a little more lifeless, as though his skin hadn't lost another layer of his usually tan complexion, as though his cheeks didn't seem more likely to slice someone if he brushed too closely by them.

It was upsetting and disturbing that he'd gone so far out of his way to –more or less- isolate her from others, and from her old self, only to be reclusive and secretive with her. Hermione knew, logically, that she shouldn't have been upset. And she wasn't, _really_; at least, not with him. She was more upset with herself for getting so worked up, because there was absolutely no reason.

Groaning, Hermione grabbed her pillow and fell back in bed, placing it over her face.

"You okay?" Ginny asked from her bed.

Hermione continued to groan, having forgotten that she wasn't alone in the dorm room. She didn't want to say anything, but Ginny was safe. She would understand. She'd dealt with Riddle before, anyway.

Sitting up, she placed the pillow in her lap and looked over at her friend. "What would you do if someone called you a filthy habit?"

She barked a laugh, but didn't look up from whatever she was working on. "This is about Riddle, then?"

"What's not about him, at this point?"

Ginny hummed thoughtfully, silence settling over them for what seemed like hours. At length, she asked, "Hermione, why do you tolerate him?"

"I told you-"

"Yeah. Yeah. Dumbledore is suggesting we all do stupid shit. You know what he asked me the other? He wanted to know if I find Lucius Malfoy attractive. _Malfoy._"

Hermione laughed, "What did he say when you said no?"

"He asked about one of the Lestrange boys! I don't know which one. They look the same to me." She laughed too, finally looking up form her work.

"One's a little taller than the other, a little more respectful."

"Thank Merlin one of us knows."

"I'll put in a good word for you," she smiled.

Ginny laughed again, "You really hangout with all of them?"

Hermione stopped smiling, smoothing her hands over pillow as she looked down. "No. I don't hang out with any of them. I've spoken to Malfoy once, I'm sure Harry and Ron told you about that, and I exchanged about two sentences with the taller Lestrange on the same day.

"I did get the opportunity to speak with Bellatrix Black yesterday. She is as warm and fuzzy as you'd imagine."

"She called you a filthy habit?"

Hermione didn't correct her. "She insinuated that I was his 'girl-pet.'"

"I'll beat her ass."

She laughed, observing the way Ginny turned to steel in her bed. "He and I aren't like that, Gin. We aren't dating. To be honest with you, I'm not even sure he knows that it's a possibility between us."

"Is it?" She asked cynically.

"Well, no. But, in terms of us being male and female humans. I'm not sure he knows."

"But, that's good for you, isn't it? It makes it easier for you all to just," Ginny shrugged, "practice."

"We haven't even started. We just…sit around. Discuss theories. He's had me read some weird books, but we really just do homework and Head's work."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Well, we also researched the rise and fall of different Magical and Muggle civilizations. That was interesting. There were a few discussions on Dark Arts, and how they are almost always used to help lay the foundation of a Magical community, if there is a king or queen-please don't look at me that way."

"You all are two fucking nerds. How could I forget?" They both laughed. "Besides the Black thing, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just…I'm worried that I'm not moving quickly enough and…he told me that he and I are the _same_, Gin."

"Really? When?"

Hermione frowned, uncertain as to why it was important. "A few weeks ago, I think. During the first Hogsmeade weekend. What does it matter? It's been driving me crazy, though. I'm not…I'm not like him, am I?"

Ginny turned pensive, and Hermione found herself fearing the worst.

"I asked Dumbledore why he would ask how I felt about Malfoy. To me, it wasn't even a joke, Hermione. I couldn't even laugh, I was so offended. He didn't tell me why, obviously, but I've been observing him ever since; and, he and I _are_ really similar, 'Mione. The only difference he and I have, and it is the same difference you and Riddle have, is that you and I have each other, we have an _incredible_ support system, and they have nothing.

"Anyhow, yes. I do think that the two of you are alike."

"And you and Malfoy?"

"Are never happening. He's engaged to Narcissa Black, anyway."

Hermione smiled, hoping the Ginny didn't realize how afraid she was. "I'll definitely put in a good word with Lestrange, then."

"Thanks…Listen. I really wanted to know. Why do you tolerate Riddle? Because he feeds your nerd habits, or…"

She laughed. "Yeah, and he knows his Dark magic." Meeting her eyes, Hermione said, "The world is completely quiet when he is around, Ginny. Even when he says something that riles me up, there is no venom or bite to his words. He is just speaking, and I'm just listening. I don't have to, I don't know…I tolerate him because he has answers to questions I didn't even know I had."

Ginny's eyes felt too heavy on her, to knowing and sure of something Hermione couldn't figure out. She looked down at her pillow before lying back down, placing it over her face as she went back to groaning in self-pity.

"What are you to him, Hermione?"

It wasn't something she'd thought about before.

"What…what is he to you?"

Hermione sighed loudly. "Bellatrix said he'd kill me. So, I can't be that much."

Ginny gasped. "Do you…do you think he's capable of that, Hermione? Because if you do, you need to tell Dumbledore. Your safety has been compromised. This isn't safe for you, anymore."

She almost laughed. Because she was incredibly sure that he'd killed before. Hermione was even sure that Myrtle wasn't the first, because he was so calm and so relaxed. There was no possible way that he hadn't killed before. And the horrifying part was that she wasn't even afraid.

"I don't think he'll kill me, Ginny. It's just…it's just a gut feeling."

**.**

**FOURTEEN**

Hermione dragged her chair away from the library table before plopping herself down in it, her face red and jaw working in anger. After a few minutes of her loudly flipping through the pages of her textbook and journal as she silently mimicked conversations, Tom calmly set down his quill and looked up at her. As their eyes met, she asked, "What are we doing, Riddle?"

"Homework."

"Thank you."

She watched as he returned to his work, disbelief flooding her as though it belonged. "I am quite capable of determining what task we're completing."

"Perhaps you should ask better questions. You'll get the answers you're looking for."

"I should ask better questions?"

"Yes."

"Ok. Did you have anything to do with Myrtle's death?"

He smirked. "Anything?" The question felt like a last breath of air. "Granger. Darling. I had everything to do with her death."

Hermione felt like she'd been stabbed.

"I did it for you."

"That's sick."

He set a vial of pale, purple liquid on the table, equal distance between them. Their eyes met.

"You have a basilisk?"

"She answers to me, but she isn't mine."

"And it…it killed Myrtle?"

"She did."

"You feel no remorse."

"There are things we have to do in this life, Granger. They will not always be pleasant, or things we _want_ to do. But, they are sacrifices we have to make. Of ourselves; of others. You can't let them affect you. Not if you want to survive."

Hermione looked back at the vial, reaching for it. She watched as it sloshed around, heavier than she'd expected it to be –and far warmer, too-, uncertain of what she was supposed to be feeling.

"Why?"

He smirked.

"What do you _want_ from me?"

"I am tired of this question."

"Then answer it, Riddle."

He gave her a hard look. "Loyalty."

She almost dropped the vial. Instead, she set it gently back where she'd picked it up from, if a little closer to him. "Grindelwald wants_ my_ loyalty? How can he be sure that he can trust me?"

"I can read you like an open book, Granger."

"Are you sure?"

He narrowed his eyes. "It is _I_ that desires your loyalty, Granger. And I am well aware of the fact that I cannot trust you. None of you Gryffindor freaks are ever worth your weight in even dirt."

"That's hardly charming me in submission."

"Submission," he offered her one of his rare smiles. "You always use such interesting words, Granger. Though, I cannot complain. If you'd like to submit to me, I'd make it worth your while."

Hermione just watched him, ignoring the way her cheeks flared at his suggestive tone.

"I do not trust you. You do not trust me. But, we have been recognized as great minds of our generation. Can you imagine what we could be together?"

"You're serious?"

"So long as you swear your loyalty."

"What would I get, Riddle? What do I get for throwing away _everything_?"

He pushed the vial toward her.

"Drink it, Hermione. Drink it, and you get the world."

**.**

**FIFTEEN**

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him into the hallway alcove. He seemed momentarily startled, wand at the ready, and only calmed when he realized it was just her.

She frowned, watching him carefully, "Were you expecting someone else, Harry?"

He'd never been much of liar, even though he attempted it often enough, and as he murmured, "No, I'm just nervous, given the situation," she chose not to pressure him into telling her the truth.

"Right, well, I," she tugged her hand through her curls, twirling a section around her finger as she considered how explain herself. "I need to tell you the truth, Harry. But, you have to promise you don't tell _anyone_. Not Ginny, not Ron. Hell, don't even talk to _me_ about it, once we step out of here. Okay?"

He frowned. "Are you in trouble, Hermione? Because we can help you. You know that. We're all here for you."

"No, I...I don't need help. Not right now, at least. I wouldn't hesitate to ask for it, if I did. You know that, Harry. I just need you to promise not to mention this to anyone else. It could really ruin me."

"I promise, Hermione. I swear. I won't say a word."

She nodded, swallowing heavily. "I've been seeing Riddle. Like…_seeing_, seeing him, Harry. We aren't romantically involved or anything like that –_Merlin, _could you imagine?" She laughed nervously. The thought of him loving her felt like someone has stuck her in the chest. "But, I'm sure you've noticed."

"Yes. We all have."

"Right. Well. Over the summer, I discovered that I was more inclined toward Dark magic than I am Light, and after that supreme fuck up in Defense on the first day, he's been interested in me. I don't really know what he wants yet, but right now he's the only person I know is well versed in Dark magic, and I need someone who can show me the ropes.

"You don't have to worry about me going Dark. I'm not…I'm not a bad person. I'm just doing what I have to do to help you, when the time comes. Riddle is a means to an end; he isn't…he isn't what he may seem in the future. _I'm_ not what I may seem in the future."

Harry was obviously skeptical of her words. His green eyes watched her as though there was never a chance of him trusting her again, and for a moment she feared it was the truth. Then, suddenly, he leaned forward and hugged her, his arms tight around her body.

"There have been so many rumors, 'Mione. I wasn't sure…I didn't know what to believe."

"I'm not joining Grindelwald, that's for sure, Harry. I'm with you, you know that. I'm always with you."

He pulled away and smiled at her, and Hermione felt as though everything would be okay between them. "I'm going to worry, I can't promise that I wont. And I will step in if you become unrecognizable, Hermione, because there is a fine line between everything. And…if they are seductive to me, I can't imagine how they may seem to your mind."

"Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it."

"I mean it, Hermione. What would it look like if I _let_ you become consumed by him? He doesn't even like Muggleborns, and one of my best friends is spending time with him."

"It's not as bad as it seems."

"Maybe, but," he swallowed. "We at least need checks-in, you know? So that I know you're ok. That you aren't…that you haven't been converted."

"Check-ins?" She asked, considering what she could tell him now. Licking her lips, she said, "There is a basilisk in the school."

"_What_?"

"I don't know where, I don't know how; but it's here, and I thought you should know even before this. I'm only just finding out."

His cheeks flamed. "It's Riddle, isn't it? He's a fucking Parseltongue. Like we suspected."

"Yes."

"And he's responsible, then? For all of this? For Myrtle going missing?"

"I don't know about everything, Harry, but he is responsible for…for Myrtle. The snake killed her."

"What the hell, Hermione? How do you know? Did you tell Dumbledore?"

"You _can't_ mention this to anyone, Harry. Do you understand? Do you hear me? Everything...everything will be ruined if you say _anything_ to _anyone_."

He shook his head, obviously disbelieving. "Does he _know_, Hermione?"

"He told me, okay? Dumbledore is going to address the school during dinner, and we're getting a week off. I…I have to deal with this. I have to play my part."

"Why? You need to get away from him. He's sick, he's a fucking racist sicko, Hermione."

"I know that, okay? I just…I have to do this, Harry. I told you."

"You haven't told me _anything_, Hermione."

She sighed. "He did it for me."

"What? Who did what for you?"

She ran her fingers through her hair again, leaning on the wall tiredly. "Riddle. He claims he did it for me. I…I know it isn't the truth. At least, it isn't the complete truth. But I _benefitted_ from it. Therefore, I'm complicit."

"How did you benefit from him killing Myrtle?"

"Basilisk venom heals wounds caused by Dark magic. My hand, I'm sure you'd noticed it, _wouldn't_ heal, Harry. Nothing I did helped. And he…he did what he had to do to help me."

"Why? Why would he help you?"

She did her best not to feel offended by his question, and the sting of his words. It _was_ odd that Tom suddenly had interest in her, especially after Bellatrix's cruel words, but it was something Hermione had to do. For herself. She didn't expect him to understand. "I haven't figured it out yet, Harry. But, I'm going to play along until I find out. Or, at least until I learn what I need to. There is _no _way we can do this without this knowledge.

"If I am significantly better at Dark magic, than that's what I'm going to use to make sure that everyone in this world has fair chance of thriving. And I…I suggest you take some time to learn some things, too. _Expelliarmus_ isn't going to save you forever. We're about to entire the real world. You need to master some better spells."

"How? How am I supposed to do that when you're off doing god knows what with the enemy?"

Hermione swallowed, pulling herself together and feigning disinterest before putting her hand on the alcove curtain. "I found a way to help myself, and I suggest you do the same. But, if you _really_ need assistance, I'm sure Dumbledore can push you in the right direction."

With one last look at him, she forced herself to be unaffected by how much it hurt to be so cold. But, she knew that he wouldn't approve. She knew that if she seemed challenged or afraid everything would be ruined. So, she nodded firmly, and left.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you all for your support. Hopefully you enjoyed this update. See you again, soon.


	5. part four

**Disclaimer: **I am not JK Rowling; this wonderful world belongs to her.

**Trigger Warning:** A man is murdered in this update; non-sexual violation also occurs as the prologue comes to life.

* * *

**PART FOUR**

**.**

**SIXTEEN**

"Ginny said she saw you."

"And you're going to take her word?"

Hermione couldn't believe he thought it okay to even ask her that. "Why wouldn't I? Why wouldn't I believe my friend, Riddle? What reason would she have to lie to me?"

"They're all trying to take you from me, Granger."

She froze, looking at him blankly. He didn't look at her, focusing on his Arithmancy essay instead. "What?" She asked, genuinely confused.

"Surely you've noticed their interest in you has increased as of late. Coming through here constantly, as though they have reason to worry."

"That's the point, Riddle!"

"Don't raise your voice with me, Granger," he cut in coldly, eyes narrowing menacingly.

"Even I'm worried about myself from time to time. Of course they are, too."

"I haven't given you any reason to worry in my company. I swore to you that there is nothing for you to fear. I am truly insulted by your mistrust."

She absolutely hated when her spoke to her that way, as though she was nothing more than one of his gang members. "Fine," she breathed. "But, your promise to me doesn't mean anything to them, Riddle. It doesn't change the fact that you've killed someone. Or that you're sneaking into the Forbidden Forest at night.

"You could at least _tell_ me, you know? I can't cover for you if I don't know."

He sighed, and an owl at the window relieved their conversation. After reading the note, he sighed again, this time more tiredly.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Its just Bella."

"Oh…what does…what does she want?"

Tom turned and looked at her. "You're allowed to ask."

She wasn't sure how to respond, so she was oddly thankful when he said, "She wants me to love her, is all."

Hermione laughed. "Don't we all?"

He turned and looked at her, a funny expression on his face. "You're welcome to come with me, the next time I go into the forest at night."

She paled. "What do you do?"

"We have tea and scones, Granger. What do you think? I'm a Dark wizard."

"Bellatrix called you a lord." She hadn't planned on mentioning it to him, but she needed to know. And the look of surprise that crossed is features felt good.

"Did she?" He asked, sitting on the edge of his desk as he observed her. "What else did dear Bella say?"

"Have I gotten her in trouble?"

He chuckled. "No, little witch."

"She said you're using me."

"I am," he admitted plainly, shrugging his shoulders as though it wasn't news.

"But, I already knew that," she smiled at him softly, hoping the funny look would cross his face again. It had been disturbingly comforting –it made her feel as though perhaps he loved her, or at least felt better about her than he did about Bella. It was her new thing, after all.

"And you're using me as well."

"Not as well, though."

"Soon enough," he murmured. "So, are you coming or what?"

"Right _now_?"

"No. Around 11."

"Riddle. It's Monday evening."

"Granger," he groaned, obviously frustrated with her.

She didn't mind. She liked that side of him.

"I have rounds in your tower this evening. I'll be by your portrait hole at 10:50 if you want to come."

"Who else will be there?"

"Who do you think?"

She honestly didn't know. "What time will we be back in?"

"I don't know, Granger. What is wrong with you?"

"It's just that Dumbledore walks the castle at night. I don't want to get caught."

He rolled his eyes, getting up and packing his bag. "Spend the night with me, then. In Slytherin."

"Yes. Because that is the obvious thing to do."

He offered her his Head Boy smiled. "It's far more charming than most make it out to be. You may need to, anyway."

"I'll take my chances. Thanks."

"Just tell him you fell asleep in the library, Granger. You're fine. You aren't on his list."

She met his eyes. "You don't know that."

Her gave her a flat look. "You told him about your test."

"Why wouldn't I?"

He shook his head. "I'll see you later this evening. Try not to be so Muggle, okay?"

He was gone before she could answer.

**.**

**SEVENTEEN**

Hermione, of course, did the opposite of what she was asked. She wore riding boots and jeans, and a puffer over her turtleneck. It wasn't her greatest decision –because she'd been in the Forbidden Forest at night before, and it was cold even in the Spring-, but it was the only form of rebellion she could offer. Because not going wasn't an option. She tried to tell herself it was because she'd be able to tell Harry and Ginny what he was doing in the forest, but really wanted to know for herself.

She wanted to know that she was strong enough to hangout with him outside of the castle. And she had plenty of other questions that needed to be answered anyway.

# # #

Tom was jogging down the staircase was she climbed out of the portrait hole, a half-surprised expression on his face upon seeing her. He didn't say anything though, about her showing up or about her attire, as the two of them walking relatively silently down the staircases and through the halls. And she didn't make mention of his- as he was in his Converse again.

When she couldn't take it anymore, she asked, "How do you feel about love?"

She felt him stutter rather than actually hearing it, his shock and confusion obvious. At length, he finally said, "I do not feel love, Miss Granger," in the hands off tone he often spoke in when he didn't want to acknowledge something.

She thought it odd that she'd noticed such things about him, and wondered if he'd noticed things about her, too. Quietly, she told him, "I don't think I do, either." Her chest felt lighter with the admittance. "Are you a virgin?"

"What the fuck, Granger? Did you do pixie dust before coming out here?"

"No. I'm determining how I feel about you," she told him clinically.

He laughed, genuinely humored by her, and she pulled her sleeves over her hands, as he said, "I see. Interesting that you chose to do this now, Granger. I'm sure that your feelings will change after this evening is over."

"Which is why I need to form some sort of basis, Riddle."

"You mean to tell me that all of this time had passed and you've not casted judgment?"

"I don't know you, Riddle. At least, not personally. Though, I do believe I know you rather intimately. Existing in silence is incredibly telling."

He shook his head, tugging her down a hall she hadn't travelled before. "No I am not a virgin, Granger. I have a very healthy sex life. Shall I list my partners?"

"Not necessary," she told him quickly, not at all interested to have conformation that he and Bellatrix had been together.

"That is a small blessing, then."

She laughed. "What are we doing tonight?"

He hummed, "We're going to kill a man."

She laughed again, watching as he stroked a feather in a portrait, charming it open. "Every time I ask you what you want with me, you change your answer. Why is that?"

He magicked the portrait shut behind them. "I'm priming you."

She didn't like the way it sounded, but as she felt the cold touch her skin, she realized that she was running out of time to finish her questions.

"What do you plan to do when you graduate?"

"I plan to become the only wizard Grindelwald needs, Granger."

"I hear he's gay."

"So be it."

Hermione coughed. "Are you…"

"There is only power, Granger. How many times do I have to tell you that? I will do anything to get where I need to be."

"And that's by his side?"

He frowned at her. "Of course not. I'm going to kill him after he's gotten ahold of Eastern Europe, and I will proceed to move west, until everything from Ireland to Ukraine is my own."

"And that's all you want?"

"No. I want the world, Hermione."

Her heart skipped a beat.

"But I believe I promised that to you."

"I thought you were kidding."

He chuckled, gripping her elbow as they travelled down old steps. They stepped out of the castle and into the edge of the forest, which confused Hermione to no end. She didn't have time to question it.

"I wasn't. Once I'm through molding you into the witch you were meant to be, I'll allow you Russia and Asia-"

"What on _earth_ are you talking about, Riddle? How did I get roped into this? And don't you dare describe this as 'molding' ever again. That is disturbing on levels I never knew existed until this moment."

"You will be mine."

Her mind seem to reel and blank at the same time. "No. I will not. You're disgusting. You're horrible."

"I am…but, you will be mine," he told her plainly, as though it wasn't a problem. As though they weren't even arguing. "And lower your voice. We're in the forest."

"I am not an object, Riddle. I am a human. I am a mind. I am my _own_."

"Yet you claim to be a witch."

"I am."

He chuckled darkly. "There is no witch without a wizard. Surely you've realized."

"I am my own. We are equals. If we are…if we are to be _anything_, you need to understand that my independence, my free will, mean more to be than you ever will."

"You may end this whenever you'd like."

"Why do I doubt that?" She asked him, unknowingly stopping.

He stopped to, turning to face her. "I'm not sure why you continue to doubt me, Granger. It's really setting us back."

"If I were to agree to this, and I'm not saying I will, you sicko: why _me_? Wouldn't…wouldn't Bellatrix be a better companion?"

"Why are you so obsessed with her?" He asked, starting to walk again. There was no cruelty in his voice, only curiosity. "She is hardly competition, you know? If it was her I was interested in, you wouldn't be here right now."

Hermione felt dizzy, but forced herself to keep walking. "You didn't answer the question."

"I can't, yet. You will understand. I promise."

She decided she needed to move on. "Last question."

"Good. We're rather close now."

"I know about horcruxes."

He stopped walking, but didn't turn to her.

"I've been helping Harry kill off Grindelwald's for about a year now."

"How many does he have?"

"Left? Or in general?"

"General."

"Oh. About four or five, we haven't determined that quite yet, because he is still alive and all."

He turned to her, his face blank. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I've been studying them, Riddle. And whatever you're doing, it's stupid. I'm sure there are other ways to gain immortality –which, by the way, is crazy. I can't even comprehend why you would want to live forever. One life is cumbersome enough."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but chose not to at the last minute. "Keep your mouth shut about this, Granger."

"I wouldn't tell a soul, Tom. You can trust me."

He didn't seem affected by her use of his first name at all. "Yeah," he grabbed her arm and dragged her along in the darkness. "I've made sure of that."

# # #

It was only once they'd reached their destination that Hermione realized Tom hadn't been kidding. The Lestrange boys stood over a kneeling man, their wands shooting spells at him in boredom. Off to the side, Malfoy and Nott stood speaking quietly, their wands hanging limply in their fists. From somewhere in the darkness, she heard Bellatrix swear angrily.

"I thought you were kidding," the taller Lestrange said, watching her curiously.

"So did I," she murmured, feeling Tom press closely behind her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

His lips brushed her ear, "I don't kid, Granger. Surely you know me well enough to know that."

"I do now," she told him lowly.

He chuckled.

"Who is he?"

"First mistake. Names make it personal. I'm sure that it is the worst idea for _you_ to know who you're killing."

"Riddle, I can't comprehend what you're asking me to do."

"I'm asking you to prove yourself."

"Pardon?"

She felt his wand press into her back, "Kill. Or be killed."

"I haven't brought my wand."

His nose brushed over her neck and into her hair just before he inhaled her. It was the most familiar he'd been with her since his lips had brushed her cheek months ago, and Hermione wasn't sure what to make of it. She felt sick. She felt scared. But, more importantly, she felt magic brewing within her, ready before her mind and body could even understand what was happening.

"Why don't you have your wand?"

"I have felt stronger lately. I don't know. I just…haven't been carrying it." It was the truth, because there was no point in lying to him. Not now.

"You are so charmingly naïve, Granger. So green and pure," his wand left her back only to be pressed into her hand. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Not this."

"I can still kill you without my wand, Granger. And none of these wizards would hesitate, should I ask them to end your life. They are about to watch you spill the purest of French blood with about as much emotion as a teaspoon possess- one can only imagine how they feel about _you._"

He kissed her hair. His wand felt cool in her palm, neutral and ready, as though it belonged to her.

She took a deep breath in. She knew the spell he wanted her to use, but couldn't bring herself to mutter the words. So, she decided to do what she knew best.

Hermione lit the wizard on fire without a second thought.

# # #

"Why did you choose fire?" Tom asked, his fingers trailing over her arm as they walked back to the castle.

They'd left the mess for the Lestrange boys to take care of –not that there was much to do, save for make the ground appear less like a man had been burned to death there-, and Nott had hung back with them to clear his mind. Bellatrix and Malfoy paced a few feet behind them, as distracting as one could imagine. Neither of them even breathed to loud, but Hermione wasn't sure if it was out of respect to Tom, or because they wanted to hear what was being said.

At this point, she didn't care. She'd murdered a man before them. The worst was over.

"Why do you think?" She asked quietly.

"You wanted to show off?" He smiled, thumb brushing over her jaw so that she would look at him.

"I believe that is more your style, Riddle. I couldn't care less about what they think of me. I wish I could, though."

"Granger?" He asked, and she knew he only wanted to know about the fire. Or rather, he wanted conformation of what she'd done over the summer, so they could finally kill her and move on.

"Were they important to you? Those Ruins?"

"Not to me, little witch. But they were important to Grindelwald."

"_You_ burned down the Ruins?" Bellatrix's shrill voice asked.

Even Tom flinched, drawing his arm off of her shoulders. He continued to walk beside her though. "Stand down, Bella."

She didn't seem to hear him. "A _filthy_, _worthless _Mudblood? I am supposed to believe this?"

"I'm not sure what more she can do if she didn't prove her worth this evening, Bella," Malfoy remarked, his tone nurturing and kind as he spoke to her.

"So she can play with fire? Who can't?"

"She never fucking listens," Tom murmured, glancing over his shoulder.

Hermione realized she was still holding his wand, and handed it back to him as though it burned her, uncertain why it even worked for her.

"Does he want you to kill me?"

He seemed pensive, not speaking until they'd reached the warmth of the castle hallways. Bellatrix was still complaining behind them, and Malfoy did little to stop her, obviously amused. Tom motioned for them to go back to Slytherin, only stepping closer to Hermione once they'd rounded the corner.

"He will never know," he murmured.

She prayed he wouldn't touch her again.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his eyes squinting in attempt to ease his unexpected –and honestly surreal- interest.

"I can't let it affect me if I want to survive, right?"

He smiled, touched her hair, and left.

**.**

**EIGHTEEN**

"What are the side effects of basilisk venom?"

Tom actually dropped the paper he was reading, looking at Hermione as though she'd lost her mind. In a slow, deliberate motion, he licked his lips, his eyes only seeming to become colder as the seconds dragged on. "What did you just ask?" He propped his elbow on his desk, and jaw on his fist.

As casually as possible, she asked, "What are the side effects of basilisk venom?"

"That's what I thought." He rubbed his hand over his face, mumbling something that sounded like, "You're a fucking idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"Pray tell, why would you drink the venom, if you didn't know what the effects were? Why didn't you research it when I told you about it _weeks_ before, Granger?"

"I _tried_," she frowned. "Everything in the library just talks about how difficult it is to come by, and how its mostly only used in Dark rituals, Riddle. There wasn't much for me to go on."

"Yet, you drank it. Why?"

She looked down at her desk, unsure what she was supposed to say. Hermione wasn't really sure why she'd drunken the venom without question. For weeks, it was all she wondered about, attempting to feel any difference in her body or mind. But, there seemed to be no effects, not even to her magic, and it had become a point of worry for her (because it was easier to worry about that than it was to worry about what it meant that she hadn't realized she'd wanted the world until he offered it to her).

"I don't know," she told him lowly.

His joy seemed to fill the room, twisted and dark in its potency. "Whatever injured your hand originally won't be able to hurt you again. You should feel generally stronger, slightly less transient, though it will more than likely take time for you to understand those feelings.

"Currently, you may be fixated on very specific details of your life, or others lives, but that will pass as you began to understand yourself more. You may also feel heightened awareness and sensitivity to different magical styles, but there are no lasting ill-effects."

"From that little bit of venom?" She looked back up at him.

He frowned. "Surely you recognized how bodied the substance was? Even less than what you took is dangerous."

"How is one able to drink it, then? It's the venom, after all. I should be dead."

He smirked. "Precisely why those who practice Light magic can't wield it, and why you couldn't find anything on it in the library. This isn't Durmstrang."

"I see." She swallowed. "I figured. I wouldn't have been able to do what I did if it weren't for…that."

"If that helps you sleep at night, Granger-darling."

She chewed her lip.

"Why'd you do it? Why'd you drink it if you didn't know?"

"Riddle, please," Hermione looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

"I want to hear you say it, Granger. I really do. It could all be so easy."

It felt as though years passed before she was able to look up at him, her cheeks red and eyes sad. Tom was calm and waiting, relaxed in his chair as he watched her. It was as though this was just another thing he'd been expecting. However, his obvious delight told her he hadn't expected her to cave so soon. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel.

And it was stupid, anyway. Because she'd seen what he was capable of. She knew that he stood against damn near everything that she believed in. But…she couldn't deny how she felt when he was around. She couldn't stop _him._

"I guess…I trust you."

It was good enough for him.

**.**

**NINETEEN**

"You have your own room?" She asked, frowning as she closed her journal.

Tom looked at her as though he didn't understand the question, "You don't?"

"No. I've been in the same dorm since I started Hogwarts."

He laughed, pulling his backpack on and heading for the door. "Unfortunate. Would you…like to come over?"

Hermione just stared at him. She should have said no, and she should have said it quickly. Instantly, even. It wasn't clear what it meant that she didn't, but it was obvious that he thought nothing of it. He stood half-smiling at her, waiting for answer with poorly masked humor in his dark eyes. She knew that if another second passed, the moment would be lost.

It was the second time he'd invited her, anyway.

Smiling prettily, she said, "Yes."

He tilted his head curiously. "Really?"

"Why not?" She could think of at least ten reasons not to, and that was just in a millisecond. The turned longer with every given moment. "I'm going up to do some more homework. I'm sure you're going to do the same- and even if you aren't doing homework, I doubt you're going up there to _hangout. _It would be quiet and…comfortable."

The corners of his lips perked, but he didn't smile. Somehow, though, it was the most genuine thing she'd ever seen him do. "You enjoy my company."

"Don't you enjoy mine?" She shoved her journal into her purse and joined him at the door, following his lead as they made their way down to the Dungeons.

Hermione expected her heart to beat painfully and palms to sweat irritably; she expected her legs to shake and knees to feel week; and she expected her head to feel clouded and heavy, too. But, nothing happened. They were just walking to Slytherin house, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Are you sure this is okay? I'd understand if you'd rather have time for yourself. You have been looking quite tiredly lately."

He frowned, "Don't worry. I'm perfect. And, I must admit to finding you less taxing then the rest of my acquaintances."

She laughed, accidentally bumping into his shoulder. When she looked over at him, she realized that he didn't seem to mind. His lips were still upturned at the corners, a shine of humor still gracing his eyes.

"Less taxing?" She questioned, poorly feigning hurt.

"Perhaps a bit more intelligent, as well. You have helped me figure out quite a few puzzles."

"Have I?" She asked, curious as to what she'd helped with.

"Yes," he answered plainly. There was no more room to question him.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, only greeting fellow students as they passed them. Once they reached the Dungeons, he looked as though he wanted to say something to her, but stopped, ushering her into Slytherin house and leading her up the staircase more casually than she'd expected.

"Your staircases don't change," she commented lowly.

"You're the Head Girl, Granger. Why would you be doing anything unbecoming?" He pushed his door open and allowed her to enter first. As she hesitated, he asked, "You aren't afraid, are you?"

"Do I have reason to be?"

He smirked, and she walked into his room before he had a chance to answer, or she had a chance to think twice. "I'm sure I told you before that you have nothing to fear with me," he murmured, the door clicking shut.

She barely heard him, fingers brushing over his desk as she observed his room. It was strangely ordinary, but as she observed it, Hermione realized that she wasn't sure why she expected it to look any other way. The only point of significance she could note was the fact that his bed wasn't made, but he seemed to have his pajamas folded neatly near his pillow. Dropping her purse on his desk, she shrugged out of her robes and hung them on his chair.

"I'll straighten up my workbench and you can sit there…unless you'd prefer the bed?"

She smiled at him, studying him for any signs of discomfort, but there were none. "The bench for now."

He nodded, waved his hand in the direction of his window, and then motioned her over. "I'm going to change. Make yourself comfortable."

Hermione nodded, sitting down facing the Great Lake, and waited for his bathroom door to click shut before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She was in way over her head, and wasn't sure what it meant that he'd let her into his room so easily. As she exhaled, she opened her eyes to see the Giant Squid swim past the window, his giant eye watching her menacingly.

"Are you cold?" Tom's voiced sounded behind her.

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "No. Thank you."

He sat down across from her. "Why did you agree to come down here?"

"I don't know."

He smiled, summoned his back, and went back to working on whatever he'd been doing in the office. She watched him for a few minutes, barely even noticing that he'd changed out of his uniform and into jeans and a Slytherin hoodie. It was surprisingly overwhelming to see him in Muggle-style clothing, his handsome face and features forcing them to seem far fancier than they were. She didn't necessarily feel smaller in his presence, but she definitely felt something.

"Are you going to work, Granger? Or are you going to stare at me for the rest of the evening?"

"I'm fond of you."

He dropped his quill.

"I have been, I suppose, for some time. This, whatever it is, makes my existence feel a little more bearable- and don't look at me that way. I don't mean my blood status."

"I didn't think you did." He watched her closely, lips slightly pursed before finally saying, "I understand what you mean."

"I'm unsure what to do about it, but I thought it important that you know."

He smiled at her, propping his face on his hand as he leaned on the table.

"You were right," she murmured, opening her journal and textbook to the right page before setting up her quill and ink. "I am more like you than I'd first considered. Being around you feels as though…I don't have to hide who I am."

"And who are you, Granger? Still someone who knows when to get off her horse?"

She smiled. "I'm finally awake."

"To the Darkness."

She shrugged. "If that's what it means to be me."

"I'm quite proud of you, you know? I didn't expect this to happen until after Yule."

She licked her lips, watching as his eyes fell to them. It felt better than she'd imagined. Glancing around, she realized that there was a gold cup sitting on his nightstand, familiar in its look and presence. She'd help his theorize on where it was a week or so ago, and couldn't believe he'd actually found it.

"You planned all of this?"

"Not exactly. I hoped that it would happen."

"Why are you telling me this? Why are you admitting this now?"

He smiled at her, deceptively kind and gentle. She felt her heart speed up and mind slow down. "Because you're mine now, Granger. Why wouldn't I share this with you?"

"Because now that you've…succeeded, you're just going to let me go."

He frowned. "False. Why do you think that? Why wouldn't I continue our work?"

"I don't even know what we're doing. I don't know what you need me for."

"Plenty."

"Will you admit it?"

"Admit what, Granger? That I love you?"

Hermione couldn't help that pleasure that flooded her. It was unreal. It was incredible. It was all worth it.

# # #

Unlike everything else that she'd agreed to, Hermione had no end goal. She had no real or fake reason to make this okay. There was nothing that could ever change or make what she'd done _worth_ it. She could only…accept it.

But it wasn't easy. Her body ached in places she'd never felt before. Even her nail beds ached from the influx of magic, of otherness, of _life_ –if one could even call it that. She couldn't believe…

Bellatrix had been right, at least to some degree. She had been an empty vessel before –pure and unaware of the true Darkness that existed in the world. In the _castle._ And now…now she was as filthy as they'd always claimed she was. And it was all because of _him_.

Hermione couldn't stop the tears that flooded her eyes, her body shaking and straining as it attempted to understand what was happening to her. It almost felt like a parasite. But it…it…

Bellatrix had been right, but she'd been incredibly wrong, too. Tom wasn't going to let her go. Not anymore. There was nothing left for her to do but accept that he'd been teaching her submission for months now. And now…

His arms tightened around her, his lips brushing over her hair as a soothed her.

Now she really was his.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for your support. Next update soon. (I mentioned this was quick-paced, right?)


	6. part five

**Disclaimer****: **I am not JK Rowling; this world belongs to her. I'm just a fan.

**Trigger Warning: **Emotional abuse; an uncomfortable, almost lemon; attempted suicide.

Please don't hate me.

* * *

**PART FIVE**

**.**

**TWENTY**

Hermione woke up crying, Crookshanks purring soothingly at her side.

She'd made it to her room late on Thursday evening, and slept through Friday, tired and alone and surging with power and life she couldn't get ahold of.

Somewhere between the supreme reality of the dream world and being awake, she'd realized that she was really and truly fucked. Not the way regular 7th year students screwed themselves over. Not the way she'd like to be. Instead, she'd done it to herself, and she'd done a hell of a job.

"'Mione?"

"_God_, Ginny," she murmured, feeling the younger witch sit on the edge of her bed. "Did I wake you?"

"No," she brushed a hand over Hermione's hair. "Don't write me up. I'm just getting in."

Hermione sat up, wiping her face. "Harry?"

"Finally, right?" Ginny laughed softly. Reaching fro Hermione's hand, she asked, "What's wrong?"

"I'm…I'm in over my head, Gin. I never thought…that I would…_god_, it _hurts_, Ginny. It _really_ hurts." She continued to wipe away tears, frustrated with herself for even crying.

"What? What hurts, Hermione? Was it Riddle? Did he hurt you?"

She didn't know where or how to began. Instead, she leaned into Ginny, resting her head on her lap. "I'm a good person. I have always been a good person, Ginny. I don't know- I don't _understand_ why _I _have to do this."

"What's _wrong_, Hermione? Please. You're scaring me."

She cried into Ginny's lap, clutching at her waist as though she was her mother, her entire body shaking and straining under the effect to keep quiet. "Can't you…can't you feel it?"

"No, I…what? What should I feel, Hermione?"

"I'm _his_ now, Ginny. I fucked up. I'm his."

Thankfully, Ginny didn't let her go.

**.**

**TWENTY-ONE**

"Granger?"

"I'm here," Hermione didn't look up form her book. Instead, she continued to stand with her back to the door, barely able to concentrate over the self-hatred that consumed her.

She felt Tom near her the same way he had in the woods, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. He rested the side of his face against her hair, and she couldn't stop herself from tensing, breath catching so low in her throat Hermione was sure it'd somehow ended up in her stomach.

"Relax," he told her, his other arm drawing familiarly around her waist. "You know me."  
"Do I?"

He chuckled in response, chest vibrating against her back.

"Please let me go. I can't-" She took a deep, stabilizing breath as he stepped away from her. "Thank you, Tom. I'm sorry. I just…"

He leaned on her desk, observing the book she was reading. It was about killing horcruxes, and she prayed it made him uncomfortable. "Don't worry about it, Granger. What do you need?"

"Why do you think I need something?"

"It's barely six in the morning. What else would you owl me for? Tea? Gossip?"

She smirked. "I can't promise gossip, but I do have tea," she told him, gesturing over to the table in the center of the room.

She moved to sit down, fixing herself a cup, and he sat down next to her, his leg pressing heavily into hers.

"I couldn't sleep last night. It…_you_…kept me awake. I couldn't get you out of my head."

He smiled when she looked at him, his eyes easing over her so gently she had to look away from him. His thumb brushed down her neck distractingly.

"I'm in far more places than just your head."

"Don't."

He smiled, leaning over and pressing his lips against her cheek. "You will forgive me."

"Never."

"That's quite a long time, Granger. Are you sure you could stand it?"

"You _violated_ me and my trust, Tom. Why would I forgive you?"

"Why did you ask me here?"

She rubbed her face tiredly. "You're all I have."

He hummed sadly. "Can I touch you?"

Hermione dry-heaved. "Yes."

Tom pulled her into his lap, his arms secure around her and chin atop her head.

"All I can think about it death." She felt herself shaking against him, but he didn't seem to mind. "All I want is to die."

"I am so sorry, Granger-darling. I truly am. I never meant to hurt you."

"Didn't you? You betrayed me. You used me. You…I told you immortality meant nothing to me, and you've ruined me anyway."

"You will see things my way one day, Hermione. I promise."

Her eyes fell closed.

"I could not risk losing you. I am not done with you yet."

"I'm going to kill myself," she told him, her eyes popping open.

"Sure you are."

"I mean it, Tom," she pushed away from him and got up. "I've been killing horcruxes long enough. This will be no different."

His eyes met hers. They dared her.

**.**

**TWENTY-TWO**

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what, Granger? We discussed this. I really need you to ask better questions."

She threw a library book at him, but he charmed it into a stuffed animal before it hit him, not even looking up from his work.

"You _know_, Tom. Don't make me say it. I can't bear it."

"You should be honored, little witch, _really._"

She rolled her eyes. "We've been over this, Tom. I will never be honored by your abuse."

He sighed. "Don't you have a Potion's paper to write? I'd get to it. You've already missed enough class."

"As far as I'm concerned, I don't care. If you do, _you _can write the paper for me. You seem to believe you know my mind well enough."

"You are quite dramatic, aren't you?"

She threw another book, surprised he was even allowing it to happen.

"How is your funeral planning going?" He asked casually, as though he was asking about the weather.

"I'm sure it'd be swell if that's what I was planning for. But, I'm planning my _death_, Tom. There is a difference."

He finally looked at her. "Leaving it to me, then?"

"Why would I leave it to _you_?"

His eyes flashed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring, passing it to her. Hermione turned the ring over in her hands repeatedly, trying to determine where she'd seen it. It dropped from her grasp once she did. It was her father's.

She looked up at him. There was nothing left in her, though.

"I am all you have."

**.**

**TWENTY-THREE**

"I love you," Tom told her plainly, as though he was telling her that he was hungry.

Hermione gagged, tears flooding her eyes and despair filling her heart. "I fucking told you, Tom. I fucking told you I didn't want you to love me. How _dare_ you? How _fucking _dare you?"

Tom sighed, unamused by her dramatics. But, she felt herself literally falling apart, like everything else he felt he loved. It was exactly what she'd been afraid of. It was happening to her. "Come with me. Come to my room with me, Granger."

He offered her his hand, and she took it. Why wouldn't she? Their fingers wrapped around each other as though there were never a more perfect puzzle, and it only served to quicken her downfall.

Hermione felt her mind darkening, her knees threatening to give under his confession. Her chest ached with anger and hatred, every emotion she should have felt fro the start. Her entire body shook in disbelief.

"Did you plan this?" She asked.

They got trapped under mistletoe on the Dungeon staircase. Without even thinking about it, she leaned forward and kissed him, her mouth working over his fiercely as he swallowed her sobs. His hands crept over her waist, gripping at her hips and back almost innocently in their exploration.

As they pulled away from each other, he asked, "How could I, little witch? I never even knew what love was."

Before she could respond, he gripped her hand again and led her into Slytherin house and to his dorm. He locked his dorm manually, carefully unbuttoning her robes and school blouse to reveal the powered-blue lace of her bra. She couldn't think straight, but the feel of his hands on her skin –hot and alive; needy and real and _finally_ for her-, reminded her that this was what she'd wanted at some point. She helped him undress with her magic, leaving only his boxers as he unzipped her skirt and let it pool at her feet.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and vanished her stockings before wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him as close to her as possible as he lifted her off the ground and over to his bed. Their mouths found each other again, hungry and desperate. As his hands roamed her body, warm and soothing and surprising, she wondered if he knew what he was doing. If he knew he was signing her death certificate.

She didn't doubt that he didn't care, even given everything.

"I love you," he murmured into her neck, his fingers dancing over her covered core.

They both moaned, Hermione in pleasure and embarrassment; Tom in awe of the soaking lace between her thighs. With one easy adjustment, she felt the weight of him between her hips, thick and hot even behind the fabric of his boxers.

She took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her as he vanished their underclothes. "I do not love you, Tom Riddle."

He smiled softly, his eyes glossy as he rolled his hips against hers. Hermione groaned at the feel of him, reaching between them and taking him in her hand. Tom hissed in pleasure, burying his face in her neck and peppering her skin with open-mouthed kisses as she guided him to her entrance.

After a strong thrust of his hips, she found herself full of him. It was far more overwhelming than she'd expected, and even as her hips met his thrusts, legs hooking around his waist, she heard herself pleading with him to stop.

He gripped her arms to stop her from hitting him, eyes meeting hers with real concern. It was all too much, and she told him so.

"I hate you," she told him as he attempted to get out of the grip of her legs. Hermione yanked out of his grip and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "I need you to just stay here for awhile. Is that okay?"

"If it is okay with you."

"It's okay."

He rolled them over, holding her close and pulling the covers over them both.

"Tom…how do you know? How do you know that you love me?"

"Because I feel remorse, Hermione."

She started to cry, pressing her face into his shoulder, feeling horrible for what she was going to do.

# # #

"Why did you do this? Why did it have to be me?"

Tom rolled over, his warm fingers brushing over her ribcage. She laid perfectly still, fingers laced over her stomach her eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I hadn't planned on it. I planned on either killing you or breaking you beyond repair."

"Now you've done both."

"No, I haven't. Don't say that. I've made you better. I've saved you."

Hermione closed her eyes, her heart seeming to ache in her chest. "You're insane?"

"Are you only just noticing?" He asked quietly, levelly. He was serious.

She laughed.

Humming in thought, he finally said, "You are powerful. You're on the other side. I couldn't let you exist without me, Hermione. This was better than killing you. You'll see."

"How would you have killed me?"

She felt his fingers on her again, smoothing over her wrist and pulling her hands apart. He twined his fingers through hers carefully before saying, "You don't want to know."

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Tom watched her as though he knew what she was going to do. She wasn't sure what it meant that he didn't seem eager to stop her; but she got halfway to his bathroom before he said, "Wait. Come here, my love."

Hermione walked over to him stiffly, still feeling him between her legs. He extended his neck when she was near, his hand cradling her face as he pressed his lips to hers. Their lips worked against each other, slow and sure, their tongues never meeting. As he broke the kiss, he thumbed the tears from her cheeks, and she turned to find solace as quickly as possible.

"I'm sorry," he called after her.

She filled the bathtub with water, climbed in, and laid against the shallow surface, listening to her heartbeat as the water rose above her ears. _Petrificus totalus, _she thought just as the water covered her nose. With her body frozen still, all that was left to do was to breath –was to die, really.

It was the easiest thing she'd ever done.

**.**

**EPILOGUE**

It was the worst nightmare in the world.

She woke up. Underwater. Alive.

The horcrux seemed to smile. Hermione fought against the shackles she was in. Tom lifted her from the water.

He kissed her forehead. "I told you I would not let you go." He brushed her hair from her face. "You belong to me, little witch. Now and forever."

* * *

**A/N:** The end. Thank you.


End file.
